


Blessed is the Man who Remains Steadfast Under Trial

by Wulfykins



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amnesia, Angst, Arthur Whump, Blood and Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Gay Sex, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, I love to hate Micah, M/M, Mental Abuse, Multi, No tuberculosis, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Switch Arthur, Torture, let's face it that's all Micah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 127,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wulfykins/pseuds/Wulfykins
Summary: Chapter 1 was inspired by the mission: Blessed are the PeacemakersArthur Morgan finds himself in a bad situation and ends up with amnesia.He will have to figure out who he was and who he wants to be in his journey to re-kindle old friendships and forge new ones.~~~Warning: This story contains many dark and disturbing themes.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Colm O'Driscoll, Arthur Morgan/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 399
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur's hand swatted at another fly which buzzed around his ear. He side-glanced at the rotting coyote to his left, glared at it as if had positioned itself there just to torment him. The hot, mid day sun had made the stench almost unbearable. He could get up and kick it off the cliff side, but then he'd risk being spotted. If only the wind would change direction, if only.

"Colm, you sure is taking your time to get here," words spoken in the midst of a deep sigh. He'd been prone on this hill for over an hour, bored out of his mind. Another check to see if his rifle was ready. Fifth or sixth time? He lost count, not that it mattered. Live round loaded, check; scope set to the correct zoom level, yup. Vile stench, he sniffed, still present, check. With one eye shut he looked through his scope, panned his rifle around until he had Dutch and Micah in his sights. Both men had been waiting in the valley for as long as Arthur had been on the hill above them.

Going by their body language it seemed like they were arguing, at least Dutch was, Micah looked more like he was cowering, nothing new there. Arthur held his cross hair on Micah and mimicked the sound of his rifle firing, lifted it as if he had to deal with recoil. He grinned from behind his scope. “Sorry Dutch, ma finger slipped.” The grin widened.

He leaned up to look over his scope, needed a better view. Dutch and Micah had halted their conversation and turned to face the same direction. Three riders approached them from the west. Colm O'Driscoll and his bodyguards, he guessed. 

“Peace talks.” He snorted, shook his head at the same time. He'd been anxious about this peace business the moment Pearson and Micah brought it up in camp. The idea that Colm would ever want to meet up for something like that had sounded ridiculous. He knew Colm had to be up to something, he'd be ready for it, ready to protect Dutch.

Anxiety had been the reason why he was prone on a hill, while the sun burned down on his back. He had to protect Dutch, ensure he walked away from this, alive and well. Micah he would happily accept as collateral damage, if something bad happened. Not if, when. 

He leaned into his scope. Colm and his men had dismounted from their horses. He briefly considered to pull the trigger, his cross-hair was lined up with Colm's head. “No more stupid feud if yer dead, O'Driscoll bastard.” He mumbled to himself, wished he could hear what they were saying. Probably better if he didn't, anger management was a skill he lacked.

He'd been so focused on what was going on in front of him, focused on keeping Dutch safe. He forgot to look after himself, at what went on behind him. He'd missed the carefully placed footsteps, but not the snapping of a twig. The footsteps sped up, he had to lean on his side to see behind him, mouth agape, eyes wide. The reality of the danger he was in had sunk in. He reached for his revolver, it was pinned between his hip and the ground, shit. So he was helpless, unable to stop the man as he slammed the stock of his shotgun against his temple. His vision went black.

~~~

“Where is he?” Dutch pulled on his reins, brought his horse to a halt, concerned eyes surveyed the area. Where are you my boy? 

“You know Morgan, boss, always off on his little adventures.” Micah shrugged his shoulders. It was hot, he didn't want to be here, wanted some shade.

“I am well aware of that Mr. Bell, this is different, we agreed to re-group at the crossroads and he ain't here.” He squeezed his legs together, a signal for his horse to trot forward, they went uphill. This is where Arthur was covering them from, there was no sign from him. A rotting animal, nothing else to see. No gun had been fired, they would have heard it. He checked for tracks, not oblivious to the fact that he was never very skilled at doing so. Not like Arthur, or Charles. But he tried, he had to. 

“You know Morgan, he'll show up in a few days as always. With a bunch of cash for the box and some fresh game for the fat man to cut up in to his usual slop.” Micah silently yawned, he spotted a a tree in the distance, lot's of shade there.

“Perhaps... But Colm showing up for a peace talk only to walk away with nothing, it does not sit right with me. Hosea said...” His mind trailed off, Hosea, should have listened to him when he said it was a trap. A sense of dread overwhelmed him, his old friend may have been right. 

“The old man is always paranoid,” he spoke casually, like he didn't have a care in the world. “You made the right call boss. Say the word and I'll search around the area for him. I'd bet a dollar that Morgan is back at camp already, doodling away in that journal of his.” 

"I..,"Dutch's eyes darted around, thinking, deciding on the best course of action. He hesitated, stay here, or go to camp. “Yes," a nod, resolve replaced the hesitation. “You keep looking for tracks and I'll go see if he's in camp.”

Micah bowed his head, arms spread wide as if he were courting royalty "As you wish." He lifted his hat, allowed some cooler air to grace his head. “I'll search the entire night for him if I must, we're brothers him and me, if he's out here I'll find him for you, Dutch.”

Dutch absentmindedly nodded at Micah, cleared him to go. His heart thumped loudly, he couldn't silence the voice which screamed in the back of his head. Arthur wouldn't have left without a word, not when they had an agreement to meet up. His son would never abandon him, not willingly. He must have seen that everything was fine, went back to camp. If he believed that, why could he feel himself panic? 

He reared his horse forward, camp wasn't too far away, he'd be at camp, he kept telling himself that, he had too. If he wasn't, Hosea would-, no, Arthur is at camp, or out hunting. Micah was right when he said Arthur would leave without a word for one of his _little adventures_ as Micah had so aptly named them; more often than not. But something felt different this time, the voice screamed again. His heartbeat rose up to his throat. “Please be safe my son.”

~~~

A groan escaped from Arthur's lips as he regained consciousness, he had dropped in and out of it a few times. His head was throbbing and he felt nauseous. The left side of his face felt wet, water? He opened his eyes just in time to see a red droplet fall from his face on to his thigh, not water. He blinked a few times, stared at his left wrist, dazed, couldn't figure out why there were ropes around it. Same on his other wrists, legs? Same. His head hurt, he closed his eyes again, the room was dim, but not enough for his head.

After a few minutes his eyes shot open, more alert this time, he jerked forward, couldn't. He was tied to a chair, wrists held tightly against the armrests they were on. Torso and legs equally fused to the chair he sat on. Shit. Dutch, was he here? Had he failed to protect him? He was alone in the room, there's that. Shit, his head hurt, it pulsated, perfectly in rhythm with his heartbeat. He had to get out, tested his bonds again, pulling against them made the chair squeak, they didn't give.

His mind got to work on an escape plan. Boarded windows, two of them. That explained the faint light. Place had a musty smell to it, must be an old building, abandoned. The room seemed ransacked, a table and a few chairs were stacked together in the same corner. Most shelves broken, a few had empty bottles scattered on top of them. Behind him was a wall, his chair almost touched it. Opposite of him was the only door in the room. 

He sighed heavily with disappointment, there was nothing usable as far as he could tell. He could try rocking the chair, knock it over. It would be loud, probably pointless, chair seemed sturdy. Plan B, he'd call it.

His head whipped up to face the door. It's lock had turned and clicked, he straightened himself, tried to hide his fear.

"Arthur Morgan,” Colm greeted him in his usual arrogant tone before he set the oil-lamp he'd been holding down on the floor. “How's your day been so far?”

“Peachy,” Arthur retorted in a dry tone, his voice sounded less confident than he hoped. 

“You was always quick with your tongue.” Colm's smirk was vile. The sight of it would have filled any man's stomach with dread. 

Arthur could feel his guts churn when it dawned on him that he was about to have a very bad day.

“Let's see if we can change that, shall we?” The smirk on his face widened, downright sinister now. He had not missed the change in Arthur's demeanor. 

Was this the end of the line? Would the next thing his family saw of him be his rotting, mutilated corpse? He couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering to a dark place. He had done the best he could and worked hard to provide for everyone. He hunted daily, scraped together every cent he could find, or steal. All of it so everyone in camp could start another day with a full stomach. He wondered if they'd miss him; Hosea would, and Charles, maybe John. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud, scraping noise of a chair. Colm had dragged it across the room, until he stood opposite of him. He watched as the bastard took his time to sit down, he'd unsheathed his knife before his ass even touched the chair. Shit.

Arthur steeled himself. There was no more time for regrets, no chance to say goodbye to his loved ones. At least Dutch was safe, if he was here, Colm would have paraded him around. He hadn't, Dutch was safe. He raised his chin, he was ready, or so he told himself. “Go on then, say whatever it is ya have to say 'n get this over with,” words spoken with trepidation.

Colm couldn't hold back his laughter. It amused him that Arthur thought he'd meet a quick and easy end. The maniacal undertone in his laughter had made Arthur cringe. 

“Arthur... Oh Arthur,” he was still amused. “Never good at seeing the bigger picture was you? You ain't getting an easy way out, I got plans for ya, friend.” He leaned in closer, raised his arm, stroked the back of his hand against Arthur's cheek. The one which wasn't covered in blood. He maintained eye contact, wanted to provoke a reaction.

“We ain't friends,” he spat the words out, jerked his head backwards, disgusted when Colm touched him.

Colm's fingers moved up towards Arthur's hair and grabbed a handful of it. He leaned in, closer than before. Close enough so Arthur could feel his breath, he hovered near his ear. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, the man's scent graced his nose. Like a powerful aphrodisiac he became addicted and wanted more, much more; later. His lips almost touched Arthur's earlobe, his tongue tempted to explore, he resisted the temptation and whispered in to his ear, “I'll take you soon Arthur Morgan, but first we have some fun.” 

Arthur had no time to process what the man had implied. The words had only just been whispered when a sharp, mind numbing pain ripped through his right leg.

Colm forced the blade deeper into Arthur's leg, twisted it on it's way down. It tore straight through the tendons of the man's muscles, Arthur couldn't hold back. A loud, guttural scream filled the room, and Colm's grin turned lopsided. Music to his ears.

~~~

Hosea and him had been arguing ever since he returned to camp, alone, without Arthur. Hosea had been hovering close to the hitching posts, waited to ambush him, to tell him how wrong he was.

“Well then where the hell is he?!” Hosea screamed back at Dutch, he'd been furious, he had warned him. No one listened and now Arthur was missing. He should have spoken up more, protested harder, he felt guilty for his lack of action.

Hosea's face colored bright red, the volume of his voice loud enough to make Dutch worry that his friend would pass out. All eyes and ears in the camp were on them, neither of the men could care less about that, not this time.

“I don't know, I thought he would be here, Micah said-,”

Hosea cut him off. “Micah?? You're doing as Micah commands now?!" His worn out body protested against his screams, begged him to relax. He stifled a cough but didn't relent, stared daggers into Dutch. The idea that Arthur went hunting after that was beyond preposterous, how could this stuck up bastard even think that.

“That's enough Hosea.” He reached his boiling point, no longer tolerant about being spoken to in such a manner. Not even by Hosea. Anyone else would have received an earful about respect by now, but this was his closest friend. Instead of his usual speech Dutch had turned on his heels and cut across the camp towards his tent. He groaned audibly as he could hear Hosea's footsteps close in behind him. This argument was far from over. He just needed some space, time to think.

“Don't walk away from me, Van der Linde!” He stopped to cough, cursed his old body, begged it for a little extra energy, for Arthur.

“Sit down old friend, before you keel over.”

“Don't you pretend to care now, I know what you want,” he stifled another cough.

Dutch's eyes narrowed, this crossed the line. “I. Care.” a pause between each word. “Sit down, take a break, we will continue this after.” It wasn't a request, Hosea knew that, he could see it when the man's shoulders sagged, when he shook his head disapprovingly and yelled at Bill to get out of his chair. Finally, some peace to plan ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt ever at writing anything at all. Feedback is very much appreciated. Hope some of you enjoyed at least something of it.  
> I may still edit or this later as I'm not happy with it at all but the best feedback is public feedback.
> 
> Many thanks for the time you've spent on reading my junk!


	2. Chapter 2

Colm held on to the knife, hadn't pushed it deeper just yet, half of the blade was inside Arthur's leg. “Hurts, don't it?” More force was applied, it went in deeper.

“I've had worse,” Arthur clenched his jaw, barely got the words out, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His whole body tensed up, it trembled from the pain he fought against.

“Always so tough, Dutch' precious lap dog, oh what I'd give to have you work for me instead.” Colm sneered, the knife now free from his grip, stuck in Arthur's leg. The red stain on Arthur's pants grew larger, it made him smile. He eased himself back in to the chair, his eyes followed a droplet of sweat as it traveled down to his chin. 

The knife no longer moved around in his leg. Arthur released the breath he'd been holding, a strangled exhale. He felt blood trickle down each side of his leg, wondered how long it would take for him to bleed out. 

“I want you , Arthur, in more ways than one.” His hand slid over Arthur's uninjured leg, explored the muscled mass as if he'd never seen one before. A greedy finger traced along his inner thigh, moved closer to his groin area. His eyes locked with Arthur's, mesmerized by their blue hue. He nibbled on his own lower lips, lost in that blue gaze. His hand continued upwards, but stopped before it reached a more sensitive area. 

“I'd rather eat a bullet,” Arthur felt disgusted, bile rose up in his throat. The thought of anything sexual with this man revolted him.

Colm leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs as his eyes traced over Arthur from bottom to top. He couldn't deny that the thought of having Arthur had always affected his body in a special way. The knowledge that Arthur was so precious to Dutch, a man he loathed, made him even more desirable. He wanted to claim Arthur for himself.  
Arthur lowered his gaze to his blood soaked pants. The knife which Colm had left in his leg made his muscles scream in protest as a sharp pain radiated through them. Arthur stretched his fingers out towards the knife in an attempt to dislodge it. He knew he couldn't reach it with his wrists firmly tied to the armrests, but he wanted to try regardless.

The side of Colm's mouth arched up a bit before he spoke. “Loyal to the end, think about what we could achieve together Arthur,” he paused for effect, “you as my right hand man, maybe something more... we'd be a force to be reckoned with.”

“Untie me and I'll show ya what I think 'bout your offer.” Arthur retorted.

Colm laughed with a lopsided grin.

Arthur swallowed, his eyes were glued to Colm's hand as it slowly reached for the hilt of the knife which was halfway inside of Arthur's leg. Arthur clenched his fists as he steeled himself against the pain to come.

Colm grumbled when a knock on the door interrupted his fun. He tapped his finger a few times against the hilt of the knife. Arthur groaned as he bit his bottom lip when the slight shifting of the knife sent a painful jolt throughout his thigh. Colm smiled at Arthur's discomfort and ruffled the man's hair before he got up, "be right back."

When Colm opened the door it was one of his men who greeted him. The O'Driscoll leaned in closer to Colm and whispered something into his ear, Colm nodded and left the door ajar. 

Colm turned to face Arthur and clasped his hands together. “Got a surprise for you, think you're going to love this one, I know I will,” he said with a grin.

Arthur frowned at him. He licked his dry lips and opened his mouth for a response, but his eyes became transfixed on the doorway when an all too familiar face greeted him.

“Hello, cowpoke.” Micah sneered at him.

Arthur froze.

Colm's smile went from ear to ear as his eyes darted between the two men. Arthur's shocked response had been a pleasure to witness. “I believe you're familiar with my new associate here.”

“You dirty fuckin' rat!”Arthur spat out. His blood was boiling, his wrists jerked and twisted against the ropes which held them down. He wished for nothing more than the ability to close the distance between them so he could throttle Micah until his head popped off.

Michah's response was to wink at Arthur, which only served to enrage Arthur even further.

Colm interrupted their non verbal exchange, “Mr. Bell here offered me five hundred dollars from his share of your bounty for some alone time with ya. Goes without sayin' that's an offer I won't be declining.”

“Remember, don't be killin' him, he's worth a lot more alive.” Colm gave Micah a warning look.

“Your wish is my command, boss.” Micah bowed as he spoke.

Colm closed the door behind him after he exited the room. He would have happily watched the man torture Arthur, but Micah had paid him well for some alone time with the man.

Micah paused for a moment after each step he took towards Arthur, like a predator stalking it's prey. He couldn't help but grin at the blood which had formed in to a pool below Arthur's right leg.

Arthur glared at him, “you always was the biggest scumbag I knew. But sellin' out to Colm O'Driscoll, now that be an all new low even for the likes of you, Micah.”

“What can I say, the offer was too good to refuse” Micah rubbed his index finger and thumb together as he spoke. “Plus the chance to finally get some alone time with you, well....” he lifted one of his legs and rested his boot on top of the empty chair as he shoved it aside. “That's a reward of it's own”.

“You're a coward, you piece of-,” before Arthur could finish his sentence Micah twisted the knife in Arthur's leg around, blood oozed from the wound as he did. Arthur gritted his teeth together, determined to make as little noise as possible. His knuckles colored white from the death-grip he had on the armrests, his whole body was shaking from his efforts to contain the pain.

Micah snickered, “I'm a survivor, Morgan. I'll be enjoying the sun in Méjico whilst you and the others will be swinging from a rope, pity I won't get to see it, but-,” Micah extracted the blade from Arthur's leg as he was mid sentence. He basked in the glory of being the reason that Arthur was no longer able to hold back an ear deafening scream, “-well, that's why I paid a hefty sum for some quality bonding time with ya” Micah concluded.

“The...” Arthur paused to catch his breath, “the others?”

“Yep, that's the plan” Micah said as he stroked the flat end of the blade over Arthur's shoulder until the blood on it was gone. “I'll ride back to camp in a few hours and inform everyone that I found some tracks leadin' to this place. Tell 'em I saw some O'Driscoll's holdin' ya and figured I should get some back up.”

Micah started pacing around the room, his arms spread wide as he continued to talk. “Then Dutch and the others will come riiiiidin' over to rescue ya, only they won't find you, just a whole lot of O'Discroll's, armed to the teeth. Wanna put some bets down on who''ll live and who will die?” He turned to face Arthur with the dirtiest of grins on his face.

Arthur knew Micah was trying to rile him up, heck, that's all the coward ever did. He wouldn't bite no more, Arthur thought. 

“Do us all a favor and stab yourself with that on yer way out.” Arthur said as he pointed out the knife in Micah's hand with a nod of his head. 

The grin on Micah's face faded, now the corners of his mouth had moved downwards. He tolerated Morgan's way of antagonizing him in camp, knowing he was no match for the bulky enforcer. Things were different now, Arthur was at his mercy and it gave him a rush of pleasure as he snaked over towards the man. “Your mouth always was bigger than your brain, Morgan.”

“Your brain always was as small as the rest of ya, Micah.” Arthur had uttered his name in the most venomous way possible.

“Fuck you, Morgan!” Micah could feel his anger build, he wrapped both his hands around Arthur's throat, his thumbs pressed down on the man's windpipe. As he was choking him Micah's eyes locked on to Arthur's, he wanted to see the life drain from them.  
Arthur's eyes were wide as he desperately fought for air. His oxygen starved lungs were on fire and he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat. Arthur wildly tugged at his restraints as his body screamed for survival. The delay between his strangled gasps had increased and Arthur was certain we was about to die. At least Micah would be denied the pleasure of torturing him further, Arthur thought through the haze in his mind.

Micah could see Arthur's eyes had started to roll back in his skull. Micah let go of his neck. He stepped back and removed his white hat with one hand whilst the other stroked through his long, greasy hair. His hands were still shaking from the force he'd been using and the adrenaline rush which accompanied it.

“Damn!” Micah exclaimed. “You...” he waved a finger at Arthur as he snickered. “Making you suffer is like a drug, I could do this all day.”

Arthur couldn't respond if he wanted to. He wheezed as he repeatedly inhaled and exhaled, his lungs were desperate to get more much needed oxygen past his tightened throat. His greedy gulps of air allowed some saliva to enter his windpipe, this sent him on a vicious coughing spree as his lungs protested heavily. Arthur leaned over with his mouth agape, a string of saliva hung from his bottom lip and his eyes were watery enough to blur his vision.

Micah had a certain casualness in his stride as he approached Arthur. He unwrapped Arthur's neckerchief whilst the man was still in the middle of a coughing spree. “Can't have you bleeding out on us, cowpoke.” Micah said as he wrapped the neckerchief around the bleeding wound on Arthur's leg. He used added force when he tied the knot which made Arthur's leg jerk up from a jolt of pain. This made Micah smirk.

Micah leaned in and rested his hands on each of Arthur's thighs. He took extra care to set his right hand down on top of the fresh injury he'd tied the neckerchief around. Micah shifted his feet so most of his weight would be on Arthur's leg, inflicting as much pain as possible. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back, he bared his teeth as a loud groan rumbled in his abused throat.

“Look at you," Micah sneered, "Dutch's number one enforcer, the big, strooong Arthur Morgan, told ya you'd get yours soon enough."

Micah lingered in the same position for what felt like an eternity to Arthur. Micah chuckled at Arthur before he finally removed his hands and straightened himself.

Arthur heaved a sigh of relief as soon as the tormenting pressure faded. He leveled his head and spat straight on to Micah's face, Arthur then forced his face in to a half grin for Micah to see. Being tied to a chair robbed him from the ability to beat the shit out of Micah but he could at least piss him off. Given the current situation, this hadn't been one of his better idea's, Arthur thought.

Micah used his sleeve and wiped the spittle from his face. “Think you're funny, huh?” Micah snarled before he swung his arm sideways and backhanded Arthur across the jaw, “is it still funny?!” A sickening crack sounded when Micah's fist connected with Arthur's nose, blood already poured out of it. “How about now?!” Micah's voice filled with rage as he shouted.

Blow after blow connected with Arthur's face, his pain filled grunts got louder each time he was struck. The blows continued until he managed nothing louder than a whimper and his head had lolled forwards. A thin strand of blood found it's way out of his mouth and was soon absorbed by his shirt. When another fist collided with his temple, Arthur's consciousness faded into blissful nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Arthur really gets it. I'm not sure things will get better for him any time soon. Sorry if you're here for the comfort, you'll have to hold on!  
> Feedback is very much appreciated as always.


	3. Chapter 3

Hosea stood at the edge of Dutch's tent, they'd been arguing for what felt like hours to him. Hosea was exhausted, his anger had made him raise his voice a lot which had been doing a number on his lungs. The only thing that kept him going was his unwavering concern for Arthur's well being.

“Damn it Dutch! At least send someone more competent at tracking than Micah.” Hosea pleaded.

“Micah is not as incompetent as you may think, my friend.” Dutch took a puff from his cigar, it was calming to him, provided him with some comfort in a stress filled situation. Hosea's incessant bickering was wearing him out fast. He needed to be alone, needed time to come up with a plan to save Arthur if the man truly was in a bad situation right now. 

“Are you saying Micah is a better tracker than Charles?!” Hosea questioned as he clenched his fists. It had been many years since he last used his fists over his words, that counter was about to be reset on this very day.

Dutch realized he couldn't respond to that in any way without having to admit to defeat. So he wouldn't. Of course sending out Charles would have been the more logical choice, he knew that. But he needs Hosea to trust him. To understand that he only has the best in mind for everyone under his care and not doubt him so much. He had to stand strong.

Hosea sighed. He knew his old friend well enough to pick up on what the silence between them implied. Dutch was having another one of his I am a leader moments, he'd forgo any form of reason and stand firm with his decisions, no matter what. There would be no chance to change his mind now.

Hosea shook his head at Dutch. He couldn't believe that the man was unable to shove his pride aside when it came to the safety of Arthur. Damn you for being so stubborn, Dutch, Hosea thought. He knew he was about to throw more wood on a raging fire but couldn't care less. Nothing in this world mattered more to him than Arthur's safety, not since he'd lost Bessie.

Hosea was long past the point where he'd choose his words carefully and be as diplomatic as possible, “well, is he?!” He persisted.

“Hm?” Dutch was being coy with Hosea.

“Do you believe that Micah is a better tracker than Charles?” Hosea wouldn't give up. He needed Dutch to send Charles out, needed him to see reason just this once.

Dutch let out an exasperated sigh as he struggled to keep himself together. Struggled to be the leader they needed and not the father he wanted to be. “I need Charles here so he can ride out with us when Micah returns with news about Arthur, which will be soon.”

“Dutch, he-” Hosea was unable to finish his sentence as his abused lungs couldn't hold back any longer. His chest heaved as it struggled through a vicious coughing spree. Hosea's free hand reached for the handkerchief in his pocket as the other one clutched on to his chest. He held the small cloth against his mouth so it could adsorb the bits of slime from his throat.

“Get some rest, old friend”. Dutch reached over and rested his hand on Hosea's shoulder, an attempt to comfort him. He'd grown used to the man's ever worsening coughing fits over the months. On occasion he still found them unsettling to witness. He couldn't accept that his oldest of friends would be leaving him forever before long.

Hosea was still coughing as he used one hand to wave Dutch away. He knew the conversation was over, his body had made that decision for him. Hosea half dragged his feet to the nearest chair he could see. He preferred to be alone in the woods whenever he was like this, not wanting others to worry about him. He knew he wouldn't make it that far and had to settle for the chair he was leaning on.

Dutch kept his gaze on Hosea until the man sat down. Lenny Summers had rushed over to him, the boy had always been very concerned for his well being. Dutch could tell that the young man had grown very fond of Hosea and he was certain that the feeling would be mutual.

~~~

Back at the old mansion, now claimed by Colm and his men as a temporary outpost, the atmosphere had been jovial. A few dozen men were scattered across the grounds in smaller groups of varying sizes. Some of them had been drinking away and sharing stories of the homeland. While others had been patrolling the area for any trespassers.

As he approached the room Arthur was being kept in, Colm nodded at his two bodyguards stationed outside of it. When he entered he felt compelled to take a moment and allow the sight before him to sink in.

Micah was standing at Arthur's side, one of his hands had a very firm grip on Arthur's hair. His other hand held on to Colm's knife, as he traced the tip of it across Arthur's throat, it left a thin red line in it's wake. As he lowered his gaze Colm noticed that Micah had unbuttoned the top half of Arthur's shirt. Fresh blood slid down from thin cuts of varying lengths across his chest, Micah seemed to be enjoying himself, Colm thought. 

Colm took a few steps forward and could see that Arthur looked as if he was about to pass out at any moment. The left side of his face was a mixture of blue and purple and his left eye had almost swollen shut. When Micah moved his arms away from Arthur's throat, Colm could see the dark purple bruises on it's sides, no doubt he'd been strangling the man.

Colm couldn't help but grin at Micah's sadistic nature. He would be a good addition to his gang, but was he trustworthy? Probably not, Colm thought. “Alright Mr. Bell, you've had your fun with him,” Colm gestured in Arthur's direction. “It's time for you to get to work, Mr. Bell.”

“Agh... time sure flies when you're having fun," Micah sneered. "What about you Morgan, think we's had fun?” Micah directed the question at Arthur, he knew he wouldn't get an answer from the semi-conscious man.

Micah grinned as he wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulder. He cupped Arthur's chin in one hand so he could maneuver his head up and down, this made it look as if Arthur was nodding. Micah then did his best to mimic a deep, gruff voice, “we shore did, you always was smarter 'n better lookin' than me, Micah.”  
Arthur's head lolled forward as soon as Micah released the hold he had on his chin. He patted Arthur's shoulders and felt very satisfied with himself for that little puppet show he had put on. Micah cackled as he strolled over to Colm. 

Colm couldn't hold back a smile, “we'll go over plan outside,” he said as he turned towards the door and held it open for Micah.

“Sure thing, boss.” Micah said as he followed him for a few steps, he then raised his brows and held up one finger towards Colm. “I almost forgot...” Micah flourished the knife in his hand as he almost comically turned back towards Arthur.  
Micah smirked and balanced the hilt of the knife on his index finger. When he was close enough he lifted up Arthur's head by holding on to his hair and shook him a bit, "wakey wakey Morgan." Micah waited for a few moments until he was certain he had Arthur's full attention.  
Arthur gave it his best effort and attempted to glare at Micah. He wasn't sure if he looked very menacing when only half his face felt functional. His breathing was ragged from all the abuse his throat had taken in the last few hours. That coupled with all the blood loss left him with no energy for any sort of comment.

“I best be leaving this where I found it,” Micah waved the blade at Arthur, who gulped in response. Micah's grin was wide enough to bare his teeth as he stabbed Arthur in his uninjured leg.

Arthur's threw his head back, his mouth was wide open as he unleashed a guttural scream.

Micah wanted a little bit more from Arthur so he twisted the blade, which was still embedded in his leg, around. “Well I sort of left it where I found it.” Micah hummed on his way out while Arthur's loud and agonizing grunts filled the room behind him. 

~~~

Arthur let out an exasperated sigh, though it came out more as a pain filled groan. Relief and dread hit him at the same time, being alone meant no one would be inflicting more pain upon him, but that solitude wouldn't last long, he feared. Arthur felt nauseous, not because he was miserable from the physical abuse he'd suffered through. He felt nauseous from the realization that his stupidity had lead to his capture. Now his friends would be storming in to a trap and then straight towards a noose, at least the ones which would survive the shootout. He'd never felt so helpless, not even back when his pa would beat the living daylights out of him after another day on the bottle. This was different, he was the one responsible. The Van der Linde gang would be wiped out of existence because he was too weak to fight.

Arthur made another weak attempt at loosening the ropes around his wrists. Moving them around stung more than he had feared it would. It made him hiss out in pain, he figured he'd rubbed his skin raw whilst he was struggling against Micah. The bastard had choked the life out of him on several occasions. Useless, Arthur sighed. His attempts were as useless as he felt he was. He wished for nothing more than to die, right here, right now. He couldn't bear the thought of having to see the disappointment in Dutch's eyes as a lawman was reading out their crimes. Disappointment which would be directed at him, rightfully so, Arthur thought.

_“Never give up until you're six foot underground, son.”_

Arthur heard Hosea's voice in his head and nodded at no one but himself. “Doin' ma best, 'sea,” Arthur slurred through his swollen lips. He just needed a few moments to rest, then he'd try again.

~~~

Micah leaned against a wall as he spoke, his hands were relaxed as they held on to the front edges of his coat. “I'll sneak away from the fight as soon as the shooting starts and meet ya at the crossing of the Montana river. But I want to see Dutch before you hand him over to the law, need to see the look on his face once he realizes it was all me.” Micah snickered, his mind already imagined the shocked expression on Dutch's face, much like he'd seen on Arthur not long ago.

Colm was pacing back and forth in the hallway, “yes, yes, fine. Just make sure that they're all here by nightfall, I've got a smaller group of men on standby to raid the camp as soon as y'all leave." He stopped to face Micah.

“Not a problem. Got Dutch wrapped around my finger, with Morgan gone am practically in charge now.” Micah spoke with pride in his voice.

“Practically...” Colm repeated.

“Relaaax, boss. I've already delivered once,” Micah used both his arms and gestured at the room which held Arthur. “I'll be delivering again, you have my word."

“You'd better.” Colm dismissively waved at Micah and resumed his pacing.

“Enjoy the noose, cowpoke!” Micah shouted. He wasn't sure if Arthur would hear him through the door or if he was even conscious at all. It didn't matter to him as he had said it more for his own amusement than anything else. Micah exited the building, he mock saluted some of the O'Driscoll's on his way over to his horse.

As soon as Micah mounted his horse, Baylock, they rode off. The journey from here to camp would be a long one, his last one. Once all the others are in prison or dead he planned to go back for all the money they'd been saving up. He'll be a rich man and he got to torture the fuck out of the great Arthur Morgan all in the same day. Micah laughed as he signaled for his horse to speed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's not too much angst? I'm not sure what a good balance of it would be. Was hoping I could get away with it for some time. 
> 
> Would appreciate some feedback on that! Love all you who've taken the time to read my crap! Thanks <3
> 
> edit: Re-wrote parts/ edited this chapter on 08/24/20


	4. Chapter 4

Colm was still pacing back and forth in the same hallway after Micah had departed. He felt conflicted towards Arthur and needed time to process what his best course of action would be.  
Not long after, Colm re-entered the room, he had opened and closed the door with utmost care. Colm took a few slow, deliberate steps until he was but a few paces in front of his prisoner. His hunger filled eyes swept over Arthur's seated body as he stood there, motionless. Even in his current, wounded and unconscious state, there was something about Arthur that enthralled Colm.

His ear length brown hair of which some locks were sticking to his sweat covered forehead. A well groomed beard, especially for such a rugged outdoors man. The way his broad chest slowly rose and fell, his beautiful jawline and a neck which was practically begging Colm's mouth to leave all kinds of marks on it.

Colm closed his eyes and found himself unable to hold back a soft moan. He wanted Arthur, of that he was certain. But did he want him because he felt an odd attraction to the man or was it because he knew Arthur belonged to Dutch? Colm asked himself.  
He couldn't deny his long time obsession to take everything he knew Dutch loved away from the man. The pleasure he felt when he took Annabelle for himself, only to end her existence shortly after. That experience had been euphoric for him, but only because he knew it would haunt Dutch until the day he died.

Colm found himself faced with a tough decision. He could do the sensible thing and ensure the end of the Van der Linde gang before sunset tomorrow. He and a few men he trusted would be well on their way to Mexico, while Dutch and the others would be facing the noose at the hands of the law.

Or...

He could do the pleasurable thing and take Arthur over and over until he broke the man. Then he'd send whatever remained of him back to Dutch. He knew it would enrage Dutch and destroy him all over again.

Colm let out a sigh of pleasure as he felt his cock come to life. His body had spoken and he knew how he'd be moving forward from here on out. Colm wasn't aware that he moved closer to Arthur, or that he was exploring the man's beautiful body with his hands. When he left his dreamy state he knew for sure that he wanted to do a lot of more of this.

Arthur frowned, he could tell he must have passed out at some point. He hadn't moved when he could feel a pair of hands groping him, or bothered to open his eyes, he knew they belonged to Colm. Arthur recognized the foul smell of worn leather, cheap whiskey and gunpowder as his. He grimaced, “'t hell 's you doin'?” Arthur croaked.

Colm leaned in, close enough so Arthur could feel his breath against his ear as. Colm was completely absorbed in his lusting for Arthur. “I'm going to enjoy breaking you, Arthur Morgan,” he whispered.

Arthur lifted his head, a simple action which took way more effort than he expected it to. He studied Colm for a moment, confused at the words which left his mouth. The man's groping made him feel uneasy, sick even. But he wasn't sure if Colm had implied something sexual or if it had been a promise of more beatings. “W-wha?” Arthur was confused.

“Don't you worry about that for now.” Colm had a devious grin on his face as he undressed Arthur with his eyes alone. The more he thought about it, the more he hungered for the man. There was plenty of time to explore every corner of Arthur's body right here and now. The Van der Linde's wouldn't be here until nightfall for their doomed rescue attempt.

Colm could see that Morgan had lost a lot of blood and he'd need a doctor sooner rather than later. After all, how could he send a mentally broken Arthur back to Dutch if his body would give up long before that. There wouldn't be enough time for that in this place, Colm decided they had to get moving now.

“Clifford, O'Malley, get in here!” Colm shouted, he knew the two men were still stationed outside.

Both the men rushed in almost immediately, guns at the ready. 

“Aye?” O'Malley spoke with a thick Irish accent. He lowered his gun as he expected there to be trouble. He knew how dangerous the infamous Arthur Morgan could be. O'Malley let out the breath he'd been holding, relieved when everything seemed fine.

“Get him hogtied and on the back of my horse, we're leaving,” Colm ordered.

O'Malley and Clifford stared at each other for a moment, “leaving? What about the plan, Colm?” Clifford asked.

Colm narrowed his icy cold eyes, the men knew they should never question his orders. The only sound in the room which followed Clifford's question was the distinct click of a revolver's hammer being cocked back.

O'Malley raised his hands in defeat and nodded at Colm. “Hogtied and on yer horse, got it, boss man.” He pulled on Clifford's sleeve and half dragged him towards Arthur, away from Colm.

Colm left the mansion, barked some orders at his men and rushed them to get everything packed and ready to go. He'd ensure that they'd leave in smaller groups and towards different directions. This way it would be almost impossible for Dutch and his men to track them down. Colm briefly considered to send someone out to recall the small group he had on stand-by near Dutch's camp. It took him only a few seconds of contemplation to write them off as expendable. Colm couldn't help but wonder if he was making decisions with his brain or his body. 

~~~

“So uuuh, w-what do w-we do?” Clifford stammered. The legendary Arthur Morgan was bound in front of him, safe and secure, exactly where he wanted him to remain.

“What'cha mean, Cliff? Get over there 'n cut him loose ya prick, he's not even awake.” O'Malley said as he gestured at Arthur. 

“Shit.” Arthur heard the man named Clifford say, his chin was resting on top of his chest, he remained as still as possible. Arthur kept his eyes closed, if the men believed he was unconscious he'd have the element of surprise on his side. In, and out, Arthur did his best to keep his breath steady. He could already feel the adrenaline build up inside of him as his senses heightened. Agonizing pain turned in to nothing more than a dull ache in the back of his mind, he was ready to strike when the time came.

Clifford cautiously approached Arthur. He crouched down and had to stretch his arms out to cut the ropes around Arthur's ankles. He stayed as far away from the man as he could while he did this. When the ropes fell to the ground Clifford shifted backwards as he glanced up at Arthur's still form. He stayed out of reach from Arthur's legs, worried that the man would somehow lash out and kill him with his legs alone. He kept his fear filled eyes locked on the man for some time, wary of his unconscious state.

“Go on then, cut the rest,” O'Malley said as he kept his sawed off shotgun trained on Arthur.

“It's your turn.” Clifford held the knife out to his friend, he had backed up even further away from Arthur.

“Jaysus yer a right fookin' spanner. At least cover me will ya?” O'Malley rolled his eyes and snatched the knife from Clifford.

“Alright, alright,” Clifford nodded and fumbled with his cattleman.

"That greasy Van der Linde done a right number on 'im," O'Malley said as his finger hovered closer to the knife which was halfway into Arthur's thigh.

“Don't touch that!” Clifford half shouted, “you'll wake him up.”

O'Malley could feel his heart beat faster in his chest, the raised voice had startled him. He shook his head and sighed, but withdrew his hand.

Arthur could feel the ropes pinning his right arm down slide away, this is it, he thought. Arthur reached for Colm's knife which was still embedded in his leg, courtesy of Micah. It took him less than a second to extract the knife from his leg and plant it in the side of O'Malley's throat.

O'Malley's eyes widened in shock. He gurgled and grasped at his throat as he choked on his own blood. Arthur pulled the knife out again, blood spurted out of the wound as he did. Arthur flipped the knife in his hand, he now had a firm grip of it's blade between his index finger and thumb. As he pulled his arm back he aimed it at his next target.

Clifford gasped as he aimed his revolver in Arthur's direction. With his shaking hands and O'Malley's body blocking his view he couldn't get a clear shot, in his panic he had hesitated for too long.

Arthur threw his knife straight at Clifford's jugular, a perfect throw. His attack had been quick and fluid, both men dropped to the floor almost simultaneously.

High on adrenaline, Arthur picked up the knife O'Malley had dropped and cut through the ropes which held his left wrist down. After he freed himself, Arthur half stumbled towards the two men. 

O'Malley had been staring at the ceiling with eyes as wide as they could be, his mouth was agape but nothing more than a few garbled noises escaped from it. Arthur stabbed him in the heart and crawled over to Clifford.

Clifford had managed to pull the knife out of his neck and covered the wound with his free hand, but the blood still squirted out between his fingers. He defensively held the knife out in front of him as he saw Arthur approach, panic filled his eyes.

With ease, Arthur grabbed hold of Cliffords wrist and pinned it down, with his other hand he plunged the knife in to Clifford's heart.

Arthur sat up, his breath was labored, he planted his hands on the floor behind him as he leaned back. “Damned O'Driscoll's,” Arthur spat on O'Malley's motionless body, he grimaced at the mixture of blood and saliva which left his mouth.

Arthur let out an exasperated sigh, he was short on time and had to get moving. He turned on his side and pushed himself up but as soon as he was upright his legs gave out from under him. Arthur fell down to his hands and knees with a loud grunt. His whole body started to shake uncontrollably as the adrenaline left his system.

Arthur stayed on his hands and knees as he waited for the tremors to stop, and some of his strength to return. When it felt like he could move without face planting the floor he started to crawl towards Clifford's body. He untied the dead man's green neckerchief and carefully wrapped it around the bleeding wound on his left leg. With his attention focused on the injury he could feel the pain make a vicious come back, as if he'd just been stabbed again.

Anger flared up in his eyes when he recalled that it was Micah whom had so generously gifted him that knife in his leg. The irony of how it ended up benefiting him was not lost on Arthur. 

Arthur readied himself for his second attempt to stand without falling down. He took a few a deep breaths and pushed himself off the floor. Unsteady legs threatened to give out on him again, but he managed to stumble over towards the door. With a heavy sigh Arthur leaned against the wall for support. He knew time was running out, his body didn't have much left in it.

_“Never give up until you're six foot underground, son.”_

“Am tryin' Hosea,” Arthur whispered. He reached down to grab the cattleman revolver which Clifford had dropped and checked it's cylinder. “Six shots,” Arthur mumbled. Arthur steadied, he brandished the knife in his left hand and the revolver in his right. He felt a sense of dread as he reached for the door handle. Arthur prayed that whatever was on the other side of the door wouldn't be a group of O'Driscoll's. Arthur couldn't hear any sounds on the other side, he took a deep breath before he carefully opened the door and peaked outside.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief when he saw the hallway before him was completely empty. He could see two closed doors on each side and another door straight across from him. That one must lead outside, he thought, and decided he'd try the first door on his left. Arthur hissed when the first step he took sent a sharp pain through his thigh muscles. He wished he had some of Swanson's morphine right now.

"Right, now or never," he whispered to himself. Escape and go home. Kill Micah. Empty an entire bottle of whiskey. Kill Micah again. Sleep. That was the plan Arthur would stick to.

Arthur closed the door behind him, the idea was that it would buy him some extra time in case someone approached and saw the dead bodies inside. Like before he opened the door as carefully as he could and peeked inside, empty. Another ransacked room, not much remained inside other than a dresser which had most of it's drawers half opened and likely emptied out. Opposite of that stood an old bed with a worn out mattress, some rusty cans were scattered across the floor near the foot of the bed.

Arthur threaded with care, he made sure to not kick any cans on accident, until he reached the boarded up window. It only had three planks covering it and they seemed to have had better days. With enough care he figured he could pull one or two lose without making much noise. Arthur turned around and placed his weapons on top of the dresser, he'd need both his hands for this.

There were some slits between the planks, Arthur leaned in closer so he could see outside. Dusk approached and Arthur cursed to himself. Complete darkness would have been better to cover his escape but he had no time wait around. Someone could come check on him or their now dead friends in seconds or minutes, he knew it wouldn't be long from now.

His visibility was limited as he had to peek between two planks but he couldn't see anyone outside. Arthur closed his eyes and held his breath so his senses could focus on hearing alone. He determined that nothing moved close to where he was, but he did hear a lot of commotion in the distance. He heard the muffled sounds of hooves that stomped on the ground and men who were yelling at each other. He guessed it all came from the opposite side of the building. It seemed that it was safe for him to proceed as planned.

Arthur wrapped his fingers around the lowest of the three planks. He did so as close to the edges of the plank as he could. At first he gave it a gentle tug, a test to see how difficult it would be to pry them loose. He nodded when he felt he could manage to do it with what he hoped to be as little noise as possible.

He pulled until the board snapped free from the window, which made more noise than he had anticipated. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and hissed with a sharp intake of his breath, he waited, listened. Nothing. Arthur heaved a sigh of relief and proceeded to repeat his actions with the other two planks. After he set the last plank down on the floor, Arthur reached for his weapons before he clumsily exited through the window.

Arthur clenched his teeth together and groaned in pain. His lower legs trembled and his thigh muscles screamed at him as soon as he had made his way through the window. Don't quit on me just yet, he thought as he leaned back against the outside wall.

Arthur turned his head to his left and then his right, he realized too late that he should have checked that first. He knew he got lucky and seemed to be alone. About twenty feet ahead of him he could see a chest high fence and a treeline behind it. Freedom, he thought.

“They're dead! He's gone!” a loud voice from inside had startled Arthur. He'd been made. Shit, that was fast he thought as he dashed towards the fencing.

“Over here!” The O'Driscoll who walked in on his murder scene was now at the window from which Arthur had escaped. Bullets started to whiz by Arthur as he vaulted over the fencing and bolted towards the treeline.

The thundering sound of several hooves drew closer, but Arthur dared not turn around. He had to stay focused on the path ahead to avoid tripping and crashing down on the ground.

“Stop shooting, Colm needs him alive!” One of the men shouted. Arthur zigzagged past the trees and hoped they'd protect him from any lasso's they'd throw his way.

Arthur's legs were failing him as he has started to slow down. He knew he couldn't keep this up for much longer so he came to a stop and took cover behind a larger tree. For the first time he could finally see how many pursuers he had to deal with as he peeked around it.

The forest around him had debris scattered around as far as he could see. The multitude of broken branches and thick bushes would make it hard for any horse to cover ground at a decent pace. Unless their riders wanted to deal with a whole set of injuries they'd have to thread carefully. Arthur decided that this would be the best time to stand his ground and aimed his revolver as he waited for a target.

When Arthur had a clear shot on the first rider which appeared in his view, he fired and missed. His aim was not as steady as he hoped it would be. Two bullets later and he had finally scored a fatal hit. Three bullets for one man was sloppy, he thought. With only another three remaining his chances for a successful escape were dwindling.

Another rider came in sight. Arthur fired and immediately the man's head whipped back as he fell off his horse, dead. Arthur's shoulders sagged when four more riders appeared behind the dead man. In his panic he blind fired his remaining two bullets and hit nothing of note. When he heard the dreaded click of an empty gun he dropped it, pushed himself off the tree and ran away.

Arthur ran for another solid minute before he was forced to come to a stop. “You kiddin' me?!” Arthur sighed in defeat as he glanced down, standing at the edge of a very steep cliff. He panted heavily and what little adrenaline he had left was fading away as fast as his chances for escape.

Arthur peered over the edge. The drop went straight down and he couldn't see anything dangerous he could land on, stick out. The cliff bordered a wide river but he couldn't tell how dangerous the rapids were from up here, the fading sunlight wasn't helping. Arthur checked his left and right side but he couldn't see any slope nearby which he could safely descend. His heart sank, they'd catch up to him within seconds and drag him back kicking and screaming, or they'd beat him to a pulp right here and drag his limp body back. The idea of jumping crossed his mind.

“You ain't got nowhere to go Morgan, drop the knife, hands up!” One of the riders exclaimed.

“I'm going to make you pay for killing O'Malley 'n Clifford!” Another one shouted as he bared his teeth.

Arthur sighed and let the knife fall out of his hand, he raised his arms in surrender and turned around to face them. All six of them, Colm had sent a lot of men after him. Four of them were aiming their guns at him and the other two had their lasso's ready. He guessed they were worried that he'd fall off the cliff if they lasso him now.

“Really fellers, all of yous for lil' old me? Am flattered,” Arthur halfheartedly joked. He glanced behind him once more, Arthur couldn't tell if jumping over the edge would lead to his immediate death. But he knew that not jumping would lead to a more slow and painful one. So he jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this one turned out quite a bit longer than the previous chapters, sorry for that  
> As always, thank you so much for the time you've spent reading through this and I'm always happy to read through your thoughts / opinions.
> 
> ( revised on 25/08/20 )


	5. Chapter 5

It was late afternoon when Micah approached the treeline at Horseshoe Overlook. He'd rather be back at the old mansion and spend more quality time with Arthur Morgan, but all the money he'd walk away with kept his focus on the task ahead. Part of him would miss the man, Micah had never met anyone in his life he enjoyed to torment more than Arthur Morgan. He imagined the look on Arthur's face when their eyes would meet only moments before they hang him. Micah smiled from ear to ear as he cackled.

Sean's eyes narrowed as he aimed his repeater ahead of him. He couldn't see who was approaching beyond the darkened shadows of the treeline, all he heard was the sound of stomping hooves. “Identify yerself or I'll shoot ya!” He called out.

“Oooh I'm so intimidated, at least I would be if you could hit anything smaller than a barn.” Micah laughed as he pulled on the reins of Baylock and guided his horse towards the camps hitching posts.

"Aaah, yer finally back you oily turd, did ya find Arthur?” Sean asked as he lowered his repeater.

“I don't report to you, redhead.” Micah said as he dismounted and held on to the reins of his horse.

“Well a lovely fuck you to you too then,” Sean retorted with a huff and turned his back to Micah.

"Hey, Stable boy!" Micah whistled at Kieran as if he were a dog. "Get over here and do your job."

Kieran hurried over and took the reins from him. "S-sorry, Mr. B-Bell," he stammered.

"G-get m-m-moving, wretch." Micah kicked Kieran in his ass and laughed before he headed straight for Dutch's tent. The tent's closed flaps told him that Dutch would be inside. Micah stopped outside of it and turned towards the group of people around the campfire.

“I found Morgan!” Micah exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You can all thank me later, or now,” he added with a grin on his face.

The flap from Dutch's tent opened almost immediately. Dutch stepped outside, excited to see Arthur back in camp. Excitement which had to make room for disappointment when he saw Micah without Arthur.

“You found Arthur, where is he?” John asked as he approached Micah. His head turned towards the horses for a moment as he half expected Arthur to be trailing behind.

Other camp members started to gather around Micah as he proudly stood in the middle of them all. “He ain't with me, buuut-”. Micah paused before he continued, “I know where Morgan is.”

Dutch grew impatient and shoved his way past some folk until he was facing Micah. “I am in no mood for being kept in suspense Mr. Bell, where's our boy?”

“The tracks lead me all the way to some old dilapidated mansion out near Cumberland Falls.” Micah said.

“You were able to track them that far west?” Charles questioned in his usual dry tone.

“What's it to you redskin? You think you savages are the only folk who can read tracks?” Micah's snide remark made Charles glare at him, but he knew the man wouldn't strike him while Dutch stood next to him.

“Mr. Bell, stay on point,” Dutch interjected. “What did you see, is Arthur okay?”

"Didn't see much 'cept for a whole bunch of O'Driscoll's guarding the place. Saw Morgan's horse there too, figured they'd be keeping him inside, counted around ten to twelve men.” Micah said as he held back a grin. He knew Colm had brought close to thirty men. But he had to convince Dutch that it wouldn't be a hard fight to take, which is why Micah omitted that important detail.

Dutch nodded and gave Micah a pat on his shoulder, “you did good, son.”

“Dutch, we need to be very careful here, it's obviously a trap.” Hosea gently pushed a few of the girls in the back aside as he spoke and joined the rest of the group in the front.

”I am very much aware of that Hosea we'll bri-,” Dutch was mid sentence when he stopped speaking. His eyes focused on Uncle who roughly shoved a few people aside, Micah included. Uncle stumbled and almost tripped before he was face to face with Dutch.

“Boys... boys... Dutch...” Uncle slurred as he half stumbled in to Dutch. “Oops,” he chuckled. It was obvious to everyone that he had a good time in the Valentine saloon.

Dutch sighed as he helped Uncle steady himself before he straightened his own vest out again. “Old man, we're in the middle of something important here.”

“Fine... fine... I guess you don't-” Uncle hiccuped and unleashed a loud burp before he continued to speak. “Guess you don't care about them folk lurking up in the woods near those train tracks, whole bunch of them too... ,but hey, guess you got-” Uncle paused and raised his hands, “more important things to do,” he mocked. Uncle snorted and turned his head, a confused frown appeared on his face as he seemingly forgot where exactly in the camp he was.

Dutch wrapped his fingers around Uncle's suspenders and pulled him closer. He spoke slow and clear, “which-,” he paused, “people?”  
Micah couldn't believe what he was hearing. Were the O'Driscoll's incompetent enough to have their plans exposed by a useless old drunk of all things? There was no doubt in his mind that the plan to ambush the remaining camp members was about to fail. It wasn't a huge disaster, he'd still get the rest of them to Colm, but it would definitely be a mild annoyance. He would deal with it later, Micah thought.

“What are you talking about you drunken old fool, we ain't got time for your nonsense,” Micah said. He hoped the others would also dismiss it as another drunken rant, it was a long shot, but at least he tried.

“Go see for yourself, right on the hill over-,” Uncle pointed to the west. He frowned, whirled his head around to his left and pointed eastward, "-there.”

Dutch held on to Uncle, eyes narrowed as he searched the man for truth. Within seconds Dutch concluded that the old man wasn't trying to prank anyone. “Mr. Smith, Mr. Escuella, go have a look and do hurry.” Dutch ordered as he released his hold on Uncle.

Charles and Javier nodded in unison before they left on foot. They returned not long after and rejoined the circle of people. The men of the group were still bickering among each other until all eyes were on Charles and Javier.

“O'Driscoll's,” Javier spat on the ground after he uttered the name.

“At least twelve of them,” Charles added.

“You was followed you stupid idiot,” John said as he narrowed his eyes at Micah.  
Micah huffed at John and turned his attention to Dutch instead. “Boss, you have my word, I was not followed, I'd have seen a group that large so closely behind me, Morgan must have talked.”

“Don't you dare accuse Arthur of that, he would die before doing such a thing!” Hosea yelled at Micah, the words had made his blood boil.

Micah raised his arms towards Hosea in surrender. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking.”

“Ain't no one here thinking as you do, ever.” John said, he was also angered by Micah's attempt to accuse Arthur of all people with an act of betrayal.

Micah snickered, “whatever you say, Scarface.”

“Enough!” Dutch interjected. “Everyone, arm up, we'll go deal with these scoundrels first.”

With that order spoken the men armed themselves to the teeth. The plan was to circle their position and surround the O'Driscoll's before they'd open fire. It was a short but bloody battle, the O'Driscoll's had been caught completely off guard. They only got a handful of shots out themselves and hadn't hit anyone in the process.

“We've got them all, well done boys!” Dutch shouted as he walked among the bodies. He glanced around one more time before he made his way back to camp and the others followed him.

When he had everyone gathered around him Dutch started barking out more orders. “Miss Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson, start packing, we'll be leaving as soon as we're back. Mr. MacGuire, Mr. Summers, you two will remain here and protect the camp.”

Dutch made his way over to the hitching posts and mounted his horse. “Mr. Bell, lead the way, we have more O'Driscoll's to kill.” Dutch squeezed his legs to motion his horse forward. “The rest of you, ride with me!”

They left much later than Micah hoped they would. This meant it would be close to early morning by the time they'd arrive. Micah blamed the O'Driscoll's getting caught for their delay. Colm would understand, he hoped.

~~~

The men rode as fast as their horses could, throughout the rest of the night. When the early morning sun had made it's appearance they finally had the old mansion in their sights. Micah had lead them to a hill which overlooked the old mansion from the south. It provided them with a clear line of sight of the building itself. The area around the mansion was densely forested and impossible to see through from their position.

John brought his horse to a stop next to Dutch and Micah's. “I thought you said there was O'Driscoll's guarding the place?” John turned his head towards Micah.

Micah's forehead furrowed with confusion. The serenity which surrounded the old mansion had come as a shock to him. He knew the plan was to have a few men patrolling on the outside, to serve as bait. The rest of the men would be hiding in the surrounding area and jump them as they approached. But there was no one, no signs of activity. Micah couldn't comprehend what changed, did Morgan escape? He'd have to improvise, fast.

“Micah?!” John said his name with a clear hint of annoyance.

“No O'Driscoll's, no horses, nothing. Care to explain, Mr. Bell?” Dutch scanned the area before him one more time before he turned his attention to Micah.

“This was the place, Dutch, they must've moved on after Morgan talked, thinkin' they could kill us at camp," Micah said. "That explains how they got there before I did."

“With only twelve men? Even Colm ain't that stupid.” John sounded suspicious.

“Enough of this.” Charles had grown impatient, he was here to find Arthur, not to stand around and bicker. He made a two clicking sounds and rode towards the old mansion, gun at the ready.

Javier didn't hesitate and followed Charles immediately with John in tow. Dutch, Micah and Bill remained where they were.

Dutch pulled his binoculars out and pointed it at the treeline, but he couldn't see any movement in the trees. He turned towards the three men who rode out and watched as they sneaked around the exterior of the mansion. He could see them carefully check every window they encountered. When they finished with that he could see John waved at him as Charles and Javier joined him at the front door.

Dutch stowed his binoculars away and nudged his horse forwards towards the mansion. Bill took this as his queue to follow and rode down the hill after him.

Micah was hesitant to join them, he still tried to wrap his mind around what could have possibly gone wrong. He realized he'd look suspicious if he remained here so he rode down after the others.

“Anything?” Dutch got off his horse and directed the question at John.

“Looks empty,” John replied. Charles and Javier walked up behind him and they shook their heads at Dutch.

"Let's see what's inside then," Dutch readied both his revolvers.

Charles got in position to kick the door in as the others took aim so they could provide him some cover. With one swift kick the door gave way and flew open. The men entered the building and cleared it room by room while Dutch stayed near the front door.

“Dutch, in here!” John called out from across the hallway.

Dutch crossed the hallway towards John. He froze when he entered the room, an empty chair stood in the center of it with cut ropes discarded on the floor around it. His heart sank as his eyes fell upon the vast amounts of blood on the floor. Good lord there was so much blood. Dutch felt sick to his stomach, he was used to seeing blood, but knowing this was Arthur's made bile rise up in his throat.

“...Arthur,” Dutch's voice was no more than a whisper. He couldn't avert his eyes from the massive red stains at his feet. Dutch thought it was impossible for anyone to survive this much blood loss. Not even someone as strong as Arthur, he feared his son was dead. Dutch closed his eyes while his mind envisioned the worst possible scenario.

“Do you think...” John struggled to get the words out, “think he's dead?”

“No.” Charles stood in the doorway when he spoke, both John and Dutch turned to face him with their brows raised. “Here,” Charles pointed at some smaller droplets of blood on the ground. “This way,” Charles turned around and entered the first door to his left, with Dutch and John in his wake.

Charles stroked his index finger over an old dresser in the room and noticed some of the dust on it had been disturbed recently. He lowered his eyes to the floor and nudged an old, rotting plank with his foot. “Hm,” he turned his attention to the window above. “More blood here,” Charles pointed out as he leaned in and climbed through it. 

“So all that blood in the other room weren't his. Maybe they all left to chase after him.” John said as he climbed through after Charles.

Dutch couldn't take his eyes off the blood, there wasn't much of it but it still unsettled him, the thought of who knows how many O'Driscoll's chasing after his boy while he was alone and injured. It wasn't until John called out his name that he moved and climbed through the window after them.

“Hey Dutch!” Javier called out as he walked up to him, “there's a lot of horse tracks going in different directions.”

"Thank you Javier." Dutch nodded at him before he followed Charles towards the treeline.

Charles lead them through woods and pointed out more blood as they came across it. He found some spots where dead bodies once lied and some bullet impacts. Not long after they reached the edge of a cliff, Charles crouched down and peered over the edge. “I think he jumped,” Charles said.

“Arthur did?” John stopped next to Charles and leaned forward so he could see what was below, “shit.”

“I know, they must have left him no other choice.” Charles rubbed his finger over some blood on the rocky edge.

Dutch appeared between Charles and John, he swallowed when he saw how steep it was. A clear view of the river below revealed the many sharp rocks and dangerous rapids. Dutch cleared his throat “Alright, good work Mr. Smith.” Dutch turned around and walked back towards the old mansion.

John rested a hand on Charles shoulder, he knew the man would not express how concerned he was, but John knew the opposite was true. “He's alive, he's gotta be, right?”

“At this height it would be a miracle to not hit any rocks, and there's a small waterfall up ahead.” Charles pointed towards it as he stood up.”

John turned his head towards where Charles had been pointing and cursed. “Come on, we should get back.” He followed up with a heavy sigh before he turned around to follow Dutch.

When the men arrived back at the building, Javier pointed out various sets of horse track's and the direction they went in.

Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before he spoke. "John you'll follow the horse tracks heading south, Javier, follow the ones heading east. Charles you take the ones which lead north.”

“What about me?” Bill asked as he felt left out.

Dutch sighed with irritation, he knew Bill couldn't track a cavalcade of wagons to save his life. “Fine, Mr. Williamson, you will follow the river downstream, can you handle that?”

Bill stared at Dutch with his mouth agape, for a moment he looked like a wounded puppy. “ 'Course I can,” he said as he straightened his posture. He'll find Morgan and show everyone that he's not the fool they take him for, Bill thought.

Dutch mounted his horse while he spoke. “Mr. Bell, you're riding back to camp with me.”

“I shall leave a note with our new camp location underneath the rock behind Mr. Strauss' wagon. Mark the note when you find it, whichever one of you arrives and finds three marks on the note will remove and destroy it.”

Dutch nodded at his men, no concern or sadness could be derived from his eyes, if he showed them how hopeless he felt for Arthur's chances of survival then they'd think of him as weak.  
That was something he wouldn't allow to happen, he gave his horse a gentle kick and rode off.

“Happy huntin' fellas.” Micah smirked at them and rode off after Dutch. Micah convinced himself that Arthur hadn't survived or was still in the hands of Colm. He had no idea where Colm would be right now, so he had no way to find out for himself. If Arthur did show up at camp he'd be in serious trouble, he'll have to think of a way on how to deal with that possibility. Sooner rather than later, because Morgan could already be there, Micah thought. 

The three men at the mansion exchanged a look of concern among each other. John wanted to say something, a few words of encouragement. But he weren't no Dutch or Hosea and had no clue what to say. He rode off in silence, as each of the others had done after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boah was absent in this chapter, I know, I'm sorry! Bit of a slow one, but it didn't feel right to skip over the efforts of the gang to get Arthur back. Next chapter will be exposition... a lot of it, oh boy. I'll try to post it a bit sooner than normal to compensate for how dull I felt this one was.
> 
> ( revised on 27/08/20 )


	6. Chapter 6

~~~ Six weeks later ~~~

Life for the Van der Linde gang had been different from what it used to be. After the failed O'Driscoll ambush at their camp in Horseshoe Overlook, the gang had moved south-east to Clemens Point. This had been six weeks ago and also marked the day they lost Arthur Morgan.

Only a few members of the gang still actively searched for him. The other's had either written him off as dead or a run away. When the morning sun peeked out from behind the horizon it signaled to the camp's inhabitants that it was time to get their days started.

Charles picked his rifle up, ready for his usual patrol around the camp. He stifled a groan as the old injury on his left shoulder protested when he bent over. The injury served as stark reminder of the events which had transpired over a month ago. He had spent days without sleep or nourishment as he headed north in search of Arthur. The fear of the tracks being lost to the elements had been a strong motivator for him. It hadn't been easy to track down the O'Driscoll's from the mansion. Three days later he had finally succeeded and found himself at a small encampment of theirs. During the shootout a bullet had drilled it's way through his shoulder, but he still managed to kill all but one of them with relative ease. 

Charles absentmindedly rubbed his knuckles as he recalled the severe beating he gave the O'Driscoll he had left alive. A fruitless effort, as it turned out. The man hadn't been able to provide him with any new information, at least nothing related to Arthur's faith which he hadn't already known about. The sound of hooves interrupted his thoughts and he readied his repeater. “Who's there?” Charles asked, before he had gotten a response he recognized Hosea's steed and it's rider.

“It's me, friend.” Hosea said as he tipped his hat at Charles. Hosea's eyes sported some heavy black bags underneath, sleep had not been something he did a lot of. For the last few weeks he'd taken it upon himself to visit various towns around the region. His mission had been to ask everyone he encountered on his travels if they'd seen a man who looked like Arthur. He'd been doing this every single day for the last five weeks.

Today, much like the others he had to return empty handed once more. He had pushed his old bones as far as they could go and found that he needed more time to rest in camp the longer he went on. Young Kieran approached him as soon as he arrived at the hitching posts. “Kieran,” Hosea thanked the young man with a weak smile as he dismounted. He knew the boy was here to ensure his horse would get the best care and rest, as he'd always done.

Kieran had taken the reins from Hosea and lead it towards the others so it could graze with them. He always made sure the camp's horses got fed and tended to after their long journey's. When he unsaddled Hosea's horse, Silver Dollar, he hitched it next to Arthur's white Arabian. Kieran knew they enjoyed each others company and always kept them close to each other. He smiled at Arthur's horse, Artemis, as he gave her a pat on her neck.

She grew more restless as the weeks went by, eager for a good run. "Hey girl, I know, I kinda miss him too," he whispered as he fed her a sugar cube. A few weeks ago he was out fishing near their old campsite, when he stumbled across the Arabian, alone and spooked. He'd taken her to their new campsite and spent a lot of his time making sure she was well cared for. “Oof!” Kieran jumped as a shoulder collided with his own. “I'm s-sorry!” He stammered. Kieran lowered his head, afraid to meet Bill's gaze, he prayed that the man was in no mood to hurt him.

“Hey! Careful where you walk, O'Driscoll!” Bill shouted when Kieran had bumped in to him. He knew it was actually him who had bumped in to Kieran, but that hadn't mattered. Bill took another gulp from the bottle in his hand as he stared daggers into the back of Kieran's head. He hadn't been in a good mood as of late, it felt like everyone in the camp had been picking on him even more so than before. It had only gotten worse ever since he returned to camp with news that he hadn't found any sign of Arthur along the riverside. Dutch hadn't trusted him to be competent enough and sent out Mica to do another sweep after him. When he returned empty handed as well no one had said anything about it. It even seemed like Dutch favored Micah more than he ever had. “What are you looking at?!” Bill shouted at Javier whom he felt stared at him with a lot more contempt in his eyes than he was willing to tolerate.

“Leave me alone, Bill.” Javier replied. He was in no mood to get in to an argument, tired from his night time guard duty he wanted to get some rest. Javier sat down on his bedroll and retrieved a bottle of tequila from under his pillow. He took a small sip from it and savored the taste in his mouth before he sealed it up again. Javier sighed as he fiddled with the bottle in his hands, it had been a gift from Arthur. The man had told him that he bought it from some on the road salesman. Arthur also shared it hadn't been a cheap bottle. It hadn't mattered, he ensured, Arthur wanted to find a non-verbal way to show him how grateful he was.

Grateful that he saved his life during a stage robbery gone wrong. Arthur had told him this after a long night of drinking around the campfire. Javier smiled as the memory of his brother in arms resurfaced in his mind. That same smile faded away as he thought back about the many days he had spent traveling east. He had lost the O'Driscoll tracks long before he gave up. He searched for several more days before he gave up and returned to their new camp with no news on Arthur's whereabouts.

Javier averted his eyes from the bottle in his hands as John walked over and sat down on one of the logs around the campfire. “Morning”. Javier said as he nodded. When he didn't get an immediate response he placed his bottle back where it had been and lowered himself down on his bedroll for some much needed sleep.

“Hm?” John lifted his head. He figured he must have imagined that Javier had said something to him and lowered his head again. He'd had been miserable for some time now, and drank almost as much as Bill had been, sometimes more. He felt like a failure with his inability to recover his missing brother, dead or alive. He had traveled south for many days. Until the tracks he attempted to follow no longer existed. Destroyed by bad weather and other travelers which crossed over them. He felt nothing but shame when he returned empty handed. Ever since he arrived back at camp Micah had made it his mission to give him a hard time about it. His already low self-esteem couldn't cope with this and he turned to the bottle to ease his pain.

“You look lost in thought there, scarface.” Micah said as he sat down on the opposite side of the campfire. John huffed at him in annoyance before he stood up and left. He always felt sick to his stomach whenever Micah was nearby. Micah grinned and unholstered one of his revolvers to clean it. Life in the new camp had been very interesting. Dutch had praised him for his ability to track down Arthur's location to the old and decrepit mansion. They hadn't found Arthur, but they were certain he had been there, so in Dutch's eyes he had done a good job.

It had been over a month and they still hadn't found any information related to Arthur's faith. It was then that Dutch had finally given in to Micah's request to claim Arthur's former lodgings. He still had no idea what happened to Colm and Morgan or even where they went, it hadn't mattered to him. He finally felt like he truly was Dutch's new second in command ever since he laid claim on Arthur's tent. After he felt satisfied with the clean state of his guns, Micah got up and made his way over to Dutch's tent. Once there he cleared his throat and announced his presence in doing so.

Dutch sat on his cot as he stared down at Arthur's hat and rotated it around as if it were the first time he'd ever seen it. When Kieran returned with Arthur's horse, they found his belongings inside her saddlebag. Before anyone else had a chance to go through Arthur's things, he had gathered all the items and kept them safe in his tent. No one would be allowed to touch anything, especially not his journal, he knew it was precious to him. His eyes wandered over to a small splatter of blood on the cuff of his white shirt. It served as a constant reminder of how far down the rabbit hole he had gone to find his lost son. For three weeks the tiny stain had blemished his otherwise perfectly clean shirt.

Three weeks since they last had a lead on Arthur's faith. Dutch remembered it as if it were yesterday. It was a rainy morning when Hosea had returned to camp. His old friend had an air of excitement around him which he hadn't seen on him ever since they had lost Arthur. Hosea's tongue had been on fire as he unleashed detail after detail on how he had managed to acquire a fresh lead. He had discovered the location of a large outpost with O'Driscoll's up in the Grizzlies. If there was ever a place where they'd finally learn more about Arthur's faith, that would be it. Hosea's elation and more over his words had been a pillar of hope to everyone. It had been a unanimous decision that they should ride out immediately to follow up on the lead. 

The journey up to the cold mountains had been a long one but they were all eager, desperate even to find any sign of Arthur. He had left Micah in charge of the camp while he personally joined John, Bill and Javier. They were his best gunslingers and he trusted them to handle anything that wanted them dead. When they arrived at the outpost it turned out that Hosea's information had been accurate. The Van der Linde's found themselves outnumbered at least three to one by the O'Driscoll's. This posed no real threat to them as he knew his men and himself had the advantage of experience. Most of the men stationed here had seemed to be young, fresh recruits and the fight had ended almost as soon as it started.

Dutch stood over the injured O'Driscoll, he was sprawled out on the snow. He rested his boot on the man's chest and leaned forward to add some weight to it. The O'Driscoll groaned at the pressure as the snow softly cracked below him from the added weight.

”Arthur Morgan, tell me what you know about him, O'Driscoll” Dutch rested an arm on his knee, his eyes colder than the snow beneath his feet. The O'Driscoll had started to gasp for air as his hands attempted to push Dutch's boot off of his chest, to no avail.

“F'k you, Van der Linde, rather... eat.. bullet”. The man croaked as he struggled to breathe.

“And so you shall.” The words had barely left his mouth when Dutch shot him in the head, pure white snow turned read where the dead man laid. Dutch's eyes darted around the camp as they searched for another O'Driscoll who had some breath left in them. His men looted the corpses which were strewn around in the hopes of finding a map or any other lead.

“Hey Dutch, look what I found!” Bill shouted as he exited one of the smaller cabins. His hands had a firm grip on a younger man as he marched him over to Dutch. The man young man was forced down on his knees in front of Dutch as he trembled not from cold but from fear. Snot and tears dripped down from his face and left tiny holes in the snow at his knees.

Dutch cupped the young man's chin with one hand and lifted his head until their eyes were forced to meet. “Arthur Morgan, tell me what you know." They were the same words he'd uttered half a dozen times on this day, he was certain this boy was the last of them and as such his last chance for an answer.

The young man shook his head, tears flowed down his cheeks and told Dutch he'd have to use a different approach. 

“What's your name, son?” Dutch asked with a softer tone as he squatted down in front of the young man.

“N...Noah, sir,” he struggled to utter something as simple as his name.

“Noah.” Dutch nodded as he continued “Do you know who I am, Noah?”

Noah slowly nodded, afraid to answer. “Y-yes, s-sir. Y-You're Dutch Van d-der Linde,” the heavy tremor in his voice made it hard for him to get the words out properly.

“Hm hm, then you know it would be in your best interest to give me what I want.” Dutch paused for effect, “Noah.” He enunciated the name in the most threatening way possible. “Arthur Morgan, tell me what you know.” Dutch rose to his feet and towered over the young man before him.

“N-nothing, Mister Van d-der Linde, I d-don't know n-nothing, I-I'm sorry!” Noah was as pale as the whiteness around him, the fear of death overwhelmed him.

Dutch's expression changed from somewhat compassionate to downright enraged. He had grown tired of being unable to get the information he wanted. It was evident to him that a kinder approach hadn't worked and neither had a more threatening one. neither. He viciously backhanded the younger man and continued to beat him as he repeated the same question, over and over.

Some time after Dutch had first laid his hands on the younger man, the evening had rolled in. All the men were sat on top of their horses, demoralized but ready to return to camp, their journey had been for nothing. Dutch glanced down at the blood on his rings and the single, fresh, red droplet which now stood out on the cuff of his shirt before he rode off.

Micah cleared his throat again. “Dutch? It's almost noon, stagecoach will be at the crossroad soon.”

Dutch's thumb gently rubbed in small circles over the old droplet of blood on his shirts cuff. “Hm?” He turned his head until his eyes were on Micah. His gaze was blank as he stared at him for several moments until his mind finally snapped back to the present. “Yes,” Dutch said as he set Arthur's hat down on his cot and stood up. “Gather the men please, Mr. Bell.” 

Micah nodded, turned around, headed towards the horses and shouted on his way over. “Williamson, Marston! Get your lazy asses over here, we've got work to do." He grinned, it felt good to be in charge.

When they were all ready the four men had mounted their horses and rode off. The plan was to ambush and rob a stagecoach which held the wages for a factory over in Saint Denis. The take would be decent, even for a four way split.  
On the ride over to the location for their ambush, John wondered why Dutch had joined them for more and more jobs over the weeks. He wasn't sure if Dutch wanted to get out of camp more often or if he had been a newfound thirst to shoot people.

Dutch had definitely done a lot of that in the last few weeks, their jobs had become messier as weeks went by. His plans turned less and less into well thought out masterpieces and more so in to sporadic moments of let's just shoot everyone. With Arthur gone and Hosea hardly ever around, John felt that Dutch had become more unhinged.

When they arrived at the ambush point things went more or less as expected. The robbery had ended with lot's of bodies sprawled across the floor. With Micah in charge this was now the norm for the Van Der Linde gang.

“Good take,” Micah said as he exited the now bullet ridden coach. He shuffled the stacks of money around in his hands and started to split the take between them, the privilege of being in charge of a job.

John snatched his share out of Micah's hand. He was still annoyed that the bastard somehow promoted himself as the one in charge. He hated Micah before but he started to absolutely despise him when he took Arthur's tent for himself, as if the man were dead and would never return. Maybe Micah was right, John thought, maybe they'd never see Arthur again. Still, the tent was Arthur's and should have been removed if so, not given to this sorry excuse for a snake. John knew he wasn't the only one who felt like that, but Dutch hadn't cared.

Dutch accepted the money from Micah and pocketed it without a single glance. “Good work boys. Let's all go our separate way as per usual. ” He whistled for his horse and rode off before anyone had a chance to speak.

The others did the same and went their own way, the mess they created for a few hundred dollars left behind them.

Dutch had slowed his horse down to a trot. He wasn't eager to return to camp, the bickering among his men got worse as the days went on, camp morale was at an all time low. Hosea had barely said a word to him ever since they returned from their raid on the O'Driscoll outpost. The only times they still exchanged words was whenever he told Hosea to ease down and rest. His old friend never took kindly to those requests, had even accused him a few times of being uncaring. It angered him, but he brushed it off because he believed Hosea had been too exhausted to think straight. Of course he still cared about Arthur, how dare he, Dutch thought. His lips tightened as a flash of anger erupted from within him. Of all people he hated it the most whenever Hosea showed doubt in him.

Dutch was lost in thought, oblivious to the rumbling sound of hooves as they approached from behind him. It had been the whooshing sound of a lasso that had brought Dutch's attention back to reality. Before he could react he felt a rope tighten around his upper arms and he was violently jerked off his horse. He landed on his back and the impact with the dirt road had knocked the wind out of him. As he turned on his side and attempted to free himself he could feel two pairs of hands on him. They forced his arms behind him and within seconds his hands were tightly bound. He groaned as they pulled him to his knees, he could now see more men had approached on horseback and quickly formed a circle around him. Their green vests and bandana's told him all he needed to know about his captors. "O'Driscoll's," Dutch swallowed as fear crept up inside of him. He knew he was in trouble, alone and defenseless as he was.

“Well well, now if this ain't a sight to behold.” A voice rang out as some men stepped aside to let it's owner pass.

Dutch recognized the voice and slowly raised his head until their eyes met. “Colm,” the name was laced with venom as it left his mouth. The fear he felt when he was subdued by the O'Driscoll's made way for his hatred of their leader, a hatred which had nested in his heart for many years.

“How have you been old friend, been a while,” Colm said with a grin on his face. “Funny story, this is the second time you played right in to my hand. The great Dutch, king of the Van der Linde gang, reduced to nothing more than pawn.” Colm let out a triumphant cackle.

Dutch frowned, he wondered what the man meant when he said he had played right in to his hand. “Forgive me for not sharing in your enthusiasm,” Dutch retorted.

“Gotta say, even though I knew I'd get ya by the end of the day. I could never have guessed how good it would feel to finally have you on your knees, literally even.” Colm laughed and as his eyes darted between his men. Some of them started laughing at his statement as he did so.

“I'm so happy for you.” Dutch's voice was as dry as beef jerky.

One of the two men which had their hands on Dutch's shoulder to keep him on his knees had dug his fingers into them. A direct result of Dutch's disrespectful tone, it made him flinch in pain and tilt his body sideways in an attempt to escape the painful grasp. 

Colm crouched down in front of Dutch, he did this so they'd be at eye level from each other. “Go ahead, ask me, we both know you want to.”

Dutch raised his chin in defiance. His face was almost expressionless, only his eyes failed to hide the anger within as they twitched. Of course he wanted to ask where Arthur was, hell, part of him wanted to scream it, he knew Colm was toying with him.

Colm fiddled with the golden chain on Dutch's vest as he waited. He never broke eye contact with him. "Ask the question, Dutch," his smile bared his teeth. 

Dutch grit his teeth together, pride fought against curiosity. He remained silent for a few more seconds until finally curiosity had won the battle. “Where. Is. Arthur?” He narrowed his eyes at Colm.

Colm stood up as a lopsided grin formed on his face. He felt as if he could achieve anything right now, the rush of power had sent waves of pleasure through him.

“I demand an answer you degenerate, I know you know!” Dutch exclaimed as he saw the look of victory on Colm's face. The man's arrogance made him lose his temper, he jerked forward and struggled against his bindings. The two men at his shoulders had to tighten their grips to keep him in place.

His outburst earned Dutch a fist to the side of his head. The O'Driscoll who's fingers felt like they could shatter his shoulder blade had let go. Dutch stared at the O'Driscoll's legs as the man walked up in front of him. He was about to lift his head when another fist collided with his face and jerked his head to the side.

Dutch cried out in pain as he was struck in the jaw, the force of the blow had split his lip and blood gathered in his mouth. He spat at his assailants boot and grinned. Determined to stand strong in front of Colm he raised his head to face the O'Driscoll who'd beaten him.

In an instant all the color had left Dutch's face, his skin went pale as he mouth fell agape. He tried to speak but his Adam's apple bobbed up and down while no words left his mouth. Seconds passed until Dutch finally regained his voice, he uttered but one word. It was the name which belonged to the owner of the all to familiar blue eyes as they stared down at him. Only he'd never seen them so filled with hate and contempt, not when they were directed at him.

“Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the dreaded “exposition” chapter. It turned out a lot longer than I planned and a lot harder to write than anticipated. I'm not super happy with how it turned out, re-wrote it a whole bunch of times. But it was something new for me to try ( this whole experience is new, but still ) and I kind of enjoyed the challenge. As always, thanks for dedicating some of your time to reading my crap!
> 
> ( revised on 28/08/20 )


	7. Chapter 7

~~~ Six weeks earlier ~~~

Water spurted out of Arthur's mouth, arms and legs flailed around as they struggled to keep him afloat. The wild rapids had already slammed him against several rocks, he was certain it had broken a rib or two. His body was exhausted, and on the verge of collapse. If he couldn't make it to the riverbank soon; he would drown. 

Soaked boots, drenched clothes, their weight kept pulling him down. He fought to resurface, to survive this nightmare. His eyes spotted a drop off up ahead, he knew what that meant. A waterfall. Arthur cursed to himself, wide eyes darted around, they searched for a last chance to escape. A few rocks were visible up ahead, he just needed to swim to his left, too slow for the first one. Shit. One more chance.

Arthur kicked his legs as hard as he could, arms stretched to their limit, he made it. Trembling fingers held on for dear life, they couldn't get a good grip. The rock was slippery, the current was stronger, it took hold of him again. Now there was nothing left between him and almost certain death.

As he was pushed towards it, the noise of the waterfall became deafening, it mortified him. All those years of being chased by bounty hunters, the law, the countless bullets they had fired at him. He survived all that, like he survived the many horses which had bucked him over the years. Turns out it would be mother nature who got to collect the prize on his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, didn't want to see how high up he was before he'd never see again.

Arthur was falling now, but not for long. His side slammed against a rock outcrop, knocked what little air he had left straight out of him. He dropped in to the river below with a loud splash, the strong current from above forced him further down. He tumbled around below the surface, panic set in as he lost all sense of direction. His limbs started flailing around again, body desperate for air. He told himself he was ready to die. It was a lie. The current freed him from the waterfall's grasp, pushed him forward at an alarming speed. He wasn't able to reach the surface and his body had nothing left to give. Arthur's head collided with a sharp rock, turned his vision dark.

~~~

He was curled up on his side, no longer fought for his life in the deadly river. The ground beneath him was muddy, debris from nearby trees strewn across the place. Abused ribs protested as his lungs worked hard to force all the water out of them. One agonizing coughing spree after another. He hadn't opened his eyes, couldn't. His lungs had done all they could, expelled every last drop of unwanted liquids. Arthur's breath was still labored, exhaustion kicked in, he allowed it to.

Not long after, Arthur opened his eyes to the flickering stars in the night sky. A tiny smile appeared on his lips, he felt nothing, his body had not yet awoken, a few blissful moments without pain. A frown appeared on his face, it seemed that he was moving, couldn't process why or how. He was laying on his back, craned his neck to get a better view of his legs. His vision was blurry, couldn't focus on anything, dark shapes dragged him along the sand by his legs. At least he found out why he was moving. A sharp pain erupted in his lower back, spiked upwards all the way to his neck. A weak groan escaped his throat, the pain grew in intensity, now unbearable. His eyes to rolled back in his skull, the dark void welcomed him once more.

~~~

In his semi-conscious state, Arthur could barely make out the shape of a man. It felt like he was laying on a hard surface, heard voices around him, couldn't make out what they were saying. He tried to move, felt pressure on his limbs, it forced him to lay still. Fingers started poking and prodding his body, cuts and bruises stung as they were disturbed. It hurt, he wanted to beg them to stop, but had no energy left to voice his discomfort. A pathetic whimper escaped from his throat, the pain dulled down soon after, the prodding stopped. Arthur could no longer keep his eyes open, his mind slipped back into unconsciousness.

~~~

He was too weak. Couldn't escape the water as it wrapped around his legs, dragged him down in to the depths. His lungs hurt as they filled with water. He wanted to breathe, something so simple, always taken for granted, now he'd never be able to do so again. Liquid hands wrapped around his throat, squeezed more air out of him, robbed him from the chance to cry for help. Death greeted him, offered him it's hand, he refused, it laughed at him.

Arthur's eyes shot open, wheezed with every breath he took. But he could breathe, he wasn't wet, or drowning. He felt surprisingly comfortable, laid on a soft surface, a bed. He wasn't alone, a figure stood next to him. He couldn't distinguish any features on it, his vision was too hazy.

The figure moved, something touched the back of his head, it was lifted, held steady. Cold metal touched his lips, words were spoken, soft and comforting, but still a garbled mess. A cool liquid touched his lips, he knew what to do, parted his lips, allowed it to grace his dry mouth. His body refused to swallow it down, feared it would enter his lungs. He had to concentrate, tell himself it was fine, that he needed this. 

The cup disappeared from his lips, replaced by a spoon. A mushy substance brushed against his lips, food. He couldn't recognize any smells, wasn't sure if it was safe, but his body craved nourishment.  
Arthur struggled to keep his eyes open. Drinking, swallowing, chewing, simple actions which left him exhausted. The hand guided his head downwards, on top of soft pillows. He could sleep now.

~~~

Arthur was frantic, lost, alone. He screamed for help, but there was no sound. Hands wrapped around his legs, pulled him down into a dark abyss. Desperate to escape this cold void, his hands clawed at nothing. Water, it was everywhere now, again he called out for help, water gushed into his mouth as he did so. His chest felt constricted, he wanted to breathe, couldn't, he was drowning. Death had returned, extended it's hand to him, told him to accept it's offer, he refused once more. Death smiled at him, said there would come a time where it would no longer give him a choice.

Arthur heard a voice, distant, desperate. There were hands on him, hands which shook his body, they demanded his attention. He opened his eyes, blinked, the voice no longer sounded distant.

“Mr. Morgan, wake up please!” The stranger repeated his name, until a pair of blue eyes finally greeted him. “You were having another fever dream, sir.”

Arthur frowned, he was dazed. His eyes couldn't focus on the blurry figure at his bedside. He continued to stare at it, blinked several times until his eyes regained their ability to focus. 

“W-” Arthur tried to speak but his body refused. He closed his eyes, tried to force some saliva down his throat, there was nothing to swallow. His head was being lifted, a cup pressed against his lips, grateful for the liquids he swallowed it all. He attempted to speak again. “W- 'at ap'ned?” Barely a whisper, he hoped it was enough, didn't think he could manage more.

“You was were in a bad state, a wound in one of your legs caught a bad infection. Gave you a terrible fever it did, you've been in and out of it for almost a week." The stranger dabbed a moist cloth on Arthur's forehead, to help him cool down. "It's a miracle you're alive." 

Arthur flinched and hissed when the stranger brushed by a certain area on his forehead. He wanted to reach up and stop them. He was only able to lift his hands for a few inches, there was clanging noise, he tried again, another clang. His wrists were trapped. He craned his neck to see why, a blanket covered his body, blocked his view.

He tried to move his legs, found the same problem with them, a clanging noise, barely able to move them. Realization sunk in, he understood why he felt cold metal around his wrists and ankles, he was chained to the bed. Panic rose up, his limbs jerked around, they tugged and twisted but nothing budged. Arthur's eyes widened at the stranger, he felt vulnerable, afraid.

“Sir... please, you have to calm down, you'll re-open your wounds and you might get sicker again.” The stranger was desperate to calm him down.

“W-who 'r you, why 'm I ch-chained?” Arthur's chest rose and fell rapidly, his struggles too demanding for his weak body.

“I was just told to take of care you, sir, I'm sorry.” He rested a hand on Arthur's chest, the other on the man's shoulder, he hoped it would calm him down.

Arthur closed his eyes, sighed and let his head plop back down on the soft pillows. He concentrated on his breathing, tried to calm himself down. After a few seconds he re-opened them, tilted his head to the left, focused on the hand against his shoulder. 

As soon as Arthur's eyes were on his hand, the stranger gasped and pulled it away. “I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Arthur's eyes traced upwards from the hand which pulled back, a skinny arm, rolled up sleeves. His collarbone jutted out, visible at the edge of his loosely fitting blue shirts collar. Face smooth as the day he was born, no scars or other signs of an outdoor life. Mid twenties, Arthur guessed. And his eyes, a few strands of blonde hairs hung over the beautiful emerald green eyes which stared back at him, captivated him.

The young man shifted in his seat, couldn't tell what was going on in Arthur's mind. He felt a scratch in his throat, had to clear it before he could speak. “I ehm... I'm going to have change your bandages, sir.”

Arthur's brows pulled together, his mind only now processed a repeated word. “You keep calling me sir, 'm I your pa?” His voice sounded hoarse, it surprised him that he managed to utter the words as well as he had.

The young man chuckled nervously at Arthur's joke, decided to humor the man with a response. “No si- ...Mister, just a habitual thing,” he shrugged. 

Arthur was relieved to hear that they're not related. Attractive as he was, well spoken too, educated, not a yokel. But why was he here? Chained to a bed, being tended to by this educated boy. He tried to remember how he got to where he was, his mind was blank. He remembered water, swimming. Arthur couldn't stifle a groan, daggers attacked his head, he had to close his eyes. It got worse the more he attempted to dig around his memories. He wanted to massage his temple, relieve some of the pain. Clang. The chains, right, he forgot. 

“You alright, mister?” Beads of sweat appeared on Arthur's forehead, it concerned him. He thought the worst of the fever had passed, was he mistaken?

“Not sure,” Arthur kept his eyes squeezed shut. He hoped it would keep the daggers at bay, no luck so far.

The young man carefully unwrapped, cleaned and applied fresh bandages to the worst of Arthur's injuries. Arthur remained silent, only flinched a few times when a sore spot was touched.

“All done,” the young man broke the long silence. He had been careful to not disturb Arthur's slumber as tended to him, the man needed all the rest he could rest. “You need to eat something now, mister.” He propped a bunch of pillows behind Arthur, helped him sit up. A plate with some bread and cheese stood on the table behind him, he retrieved it.

Chains rattled as Arthur jiggled his wrists around. "Can't eat without ma hands."

“I'll feed you mister, like before.” He brought a piece of bread to Arthur's lips and waited for him to open his mouth.

Arthur turned his head away. “Why am I a prisoner?”

He stared at Arthur, pulled his brows together, tried to find the best response to his question. “It's for everyone’s safety mister Morgan, yours included.” He hoped it was a suitable answer, that Arthur wouldn't start trashing around again. 

Arthur scoffed, “it don't make me feel safe.” He wished he could remember what happened, how he ended up in this situation, a prisoner.

“Sir... eh, mister, sorry, please I need you to eat, if...” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat, “if you don't eat and recover he'll get very angry with me.” The young man's eyes lowered to the plate in his hand, an exasperated sigh left his mouth. Pushed some food around the plate with the piece of bread between his fingers.

Arthur studied the boy's body language, unsure why he felt compassionate towards the plight of this stranger. “Who will get angry with you?”

“Colm, sir.” He mumbled.

“Colm...” Arthur repeated the name to himself. It sounded vaguely familiar, he couldn't narrow it down or connect a face to the name. “This Colm feller, is he the one keepin' me here?”

The young man raised his head, mouth opened and closed a few times before he answered. "Yes?” Was he toying with him? The question had such an obvious answer, he wasn't sure why Arthur bothered to ask it.

Arthur nodded, all this thinking made his head hurt again. He decided to be compliant for now, the young man had been kind to him, he didn't want to be the reason that he'd get in trouble. Not for being helpful. Arthur caught himself doing that thing where cared again, why? “That bread had better taste nice, boy.” The corner of his lips curled up, he held his mouth open.

The young man's face lit up, he hadn't expected Arthur to cooperate anymore and he'd been afraid of the consequences he would have to face. He chuckled to himself as he realized he never thought about the fact he was now a nursemaid to a man as infamous and dangerous as Arthur Morgan, he had heard many stories about the ruthless killer.  
He remembered that he had been very afraid of him in the beginning, every time he was about to enter the room he would be worried that Arthur had somehow escaped from his chains and was waiting around the corner to strangle the life out of him.

As he spent more and more time helping Arthur relax after yet another nightmare, cleaning his bandages and keeping him fed he slowly warmed up to the man. Arthur was different from the others, he had never insulted him or been disrespectful, in fact he found Arthur to be very mindful towards him, this hadn't been the case for anyone else he'd been around, especially not Colm and his personal bodyguards.

The young man shook his head and stifled a laugh when he noticed Arthur had been patiently waiting with his mouth agape this whole time whilst he was too busy with being lost in his own thoughts. Not wanting to keep the man waiting any longer he gently placed a small piece of bread on top of his tongue. 

Arthur's mouth had closed around his index finger before he had time to pull it away, the young man found himself frozen in time whilst he stared at Arthur's luscious lips as they formed a seal around his finger, he could feel his tongue which was pushed up against the bottom of slowly make it's way towards the tip of his index finger as Arthur slowly pulled his head back until said finger exited his mouth with a gentle suckling noise. 

It took the young man a moment to realize that he had been holding his breath and that his cheeks flushed red and hot. Arthur's eyes had been closed the whole time and he couldn't tell at all if the man had done this on purpose or if he was simply too exhausted to care.

The young man was relieved that rest of the feeding session had gone without incident, he had no confidence that he could remain composed if anything similar had happened. He gathered all the dirty bandages and the empty plate before he hurried to leave the room.

~~~

Arthur opened his eyes when the morning sun lit up his room, well, prison is how he'd describe it. He knew his nursemaid, as he sometimes called the young man, would show up soon. He felt reluctance when he had to admit to himself that he looked forward to his visits, there hadn't been anything for him to do in this room, shackled to the bed as he still was.

It was fine back when he slept through most of the day and night but he had been feeling a lot better for two days now and he was bored. The only thing that hadn't seemed to recover was his memory, whenever he tried to piece certain things together his head would explode in pain.  
He had given up on that for now and figured he'd best take it slow with all the thinking, part of him had been fine with the idea of less thinking.

When the door opened Arthur felt a hint of excitement build inside of him, only this time it wasn't who he expected. Instead an oddly familiar man with a devious looking grin on his face had entered.

“Athur Morgan, it's good to see you alive” Colm said as he closed the door behind him.

“If you say so.” Arthur frowned at him, within seconds of meeting him he already felt a certain degree of distrust towards this man and that wasn't just because his nursemaid was so obviously afraid of him, there just was something about the man which didn't sit right in Arthur's mind. So much for less thinking, Arthur thought.

“How are the wounds, all better?” Colm had walked over to his bedside, he brushed a finger alongside the nasty scar on Arthur's temple.

Arthur flinched and turned his head away as much as he could in reaction to Colm's not so gentle prodding.

Colm plucked the sheet which was covering Arthur's naked body between two of his fingers and slowly lowered it all the way down to his abs.  
He muttered something inaudible as he inspected the nasty cuts and bruises which he last saw on him a week ago. Colm nodded with satisfaction when he concluded they were healing up nicely.

“You gonna tell me why I'm chained to your bed here, mister?” Arthur asked.

It hadn't been just the words themselves but the tone in which they were uttered that made Colm frown ever so slightly at Arthur.  
“Wouldn't want you sneaking out and killing half of my men now would we?” Was Colm's reply.

“And what reason would I have to be doin' that?” Arthur asked, his words sounded sincere.

Colm's frown only deepened “I've never known ya to be a man who likes to play games with words, Arthur”.

“Whatever you say, mister.” Arthur half shrugged.

Colm backhanded Arthur in the the face “Stop being coy with me, Arthur”.

Arthur's head jerked to the side from the impact. The chains from his shackles clanged against the metal bed frame as Arthur's body triggered it's self defense muscle memory. He poked the inside of his throbbing cheek with his tongue and narrowed his eyes at Colm.

“Oh Arthur...” Colm shook his head at the man as he smiled.  
Arthur's anger filled reaction had sent a small wave of pleasure through Colm's body and he could feel his cock twitching in his pants, he'd been waiting and thinking about this for over a week now. 

“It's good to see some fight back in ya”. Colm thrived on this, whenever he provoked some sort of defiant reaction from Arthur he just wanted more. Colm grabbed hold of the bed sheet which was still covering Arthur from the waist down and pulled it off completely. 

Arthur shivered ever so slightly as the cold air of the room enveloped his whole body.

Colm's eyes slowly snaked across Arthur's body as his index finger traced a line all the way from Arthur's collarbone down to his lower abdomen.  
“You're a beautiful man, Arthur Morgan.” Colm's hand had reached Arthur's groin and slid over to his inner thighs, he rubbed them in slow circular motions and occasionally brushed against his genitalia which made Arthur's cock twitch involuntary.

Arthur was studying the man who'd been groping him, he wasn't quite sure how the whole situation went from physical pain to fondling him within seconds.  
“So.. we're a thing?” Arthur's face was riddled with confusion as he asked the question.

The words pulled Colm out of his dreamy state and he stepped back as he searched Arthur's eyes for something, not quite sure what he was hoping to find. He hadn't realized until now that Arthur hadn't resisted, hadn't tried to somehow kill Colm for touching him so intimately, in fact all the man had done was lay there quietly and allowed him to do whatever he wanted.  
This wasn't how he had imagined things, he needed Arthur to scream murder as he pounded him into the mattress, to struggle until his wrists were bleeding. Seeing the man just face up and more pliant than a puppy drained all the lust from Colm's body.

“What are you playing at, Morgan?” Colm asked, his confusion only grew, he couldn't figure out if Arthur Morgan, the quick draw gunslinger and fiercest enforcer he'd ever met was also secretly the best actor and poker player of the whole damned country.

Arthur sighed. “Look mister, I just wanna know why you got me in chains and what I need to do to get outta here.”

Colm hadn't replied, immediately his mind worked furiously on how to handle this unexpected situation. After a minute of silence Colm spoke up again.  
“You know...” Colm paused, his hand reached up to rub the stubble on his cheek as his eyes were focused on Arthur's expressions. “I was going to save this for a more appropriate moment but I might as well tell you now... couple of days ago some of my men were down in Valentine and bumped into Hosea Matthews, said they took their time with him but he eventually ended up eating a bullet.” Colm grinned in the most maniacal way he could manage, it was a test.

“Hosea...” Arthur repeated the name out loud as if that would somehow help him more, his eyes were unfocussed and darted around as his mind was searching for imagines... anything that related to the name, his brows furrowed in confusion and his eyes met Colm again, Arthur shook his head and shrugged at the man.

“Okay?” Was all Arthur had to say.

Colm was shocked, it hadn't seemed like Arthur was trying to call his bluff, he knew the man was always more prone to react with his heart instead of his brains.  
All he could see in Arthur's body language after he shared his fake story was more confusion, not even the slightest hint of agitation or anger.  
Colm had nothing else to say, he needed some time to think ahead and left the room without saying another word, leaving Arthur alone and completely exposed as he hadn't bothered to cover him back up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a bit longer than usual to add this chapter, I struggled a lot with the minor smut as it's my first time attempting to put something like that down in writing and not make it sound absolutely stupid, which it probably does. Also prepare for a lot more Arthur and Colm, there's a lot I still want to cover before going back to what would now be considered “present day” in this story.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and for all the great comments I've gotten so far! It means the world to me. <3


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur guessed it was almost noon, his stomach growled at him once more and he wondered if he'd be getting lunch today since it seemed breakfast wasn't going to be a thing.

“Hosea Matthews...” Arthur had repeated the name to himself several times in the last few hours, he couldn't match a face, a voice or anything else to the name. He felt indifferent when Colm said the man was now dead. Had this Hosea feller wronged Colm in some way? And why had Colm shared the story at all if they weren't related in some way, Arthur wondered, he groaned as his headache started to creep up again.

The door flew open and Colm was back in his room, only this time he wasn't alone.  
Two very large, rugged looking, broad shouldered men entered the room with him and took position on each side of the doorway, they both had guns in their hands and looked like they hadn't bathed since the day they were born.

Arthur took stock of the two men, he could see that one of them had a loose grip on his rifle, he figured he could easily close the distance between them before he'd have a chance to properly line up a shot. A rifle wasn't exactly the best weapon for any close up engagement. The feller next to him was holding on to a double barreled shotgun, which would pose more of a problem and could easily leave a large gaping hole in anything it was fired at, it didn't require much precision to be effective either. Maybe he'd have a few extra seconds if he caught them by surprise, he could use rifle man's body as a shield, Arthur thought.

Arthur was about to consider the safe distance at which buckshot would no longer penetrate a body when he stopped that train of thought and asked himself why the hell he was even planning this out in the first place. It felt natural to him. His thoughts were interrupted when Colm's voice broke the silence.

“I believe it's time we get rid of those shackles for ya.” Colm said, he had a key in his hand but hadn't made a move towards freeing Arthur just yet.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise, unable to hide his eagerness to finally rid himself of those damned chains.

“You gonna be a good boy and behave this time, right?” Colm tapped one of the locks at Arthur's wrists with the key.

Behave? Had he done something bad, is that why he was being kept like this? Arthur wondered as he nodded at Colm. If being compliant would keep him free then that's what he'd do, anything to not be bored and stuck in this dull room anymore.

Colm unlocked all of his shackles and took one big step backwards, in the corner of his eyes Arthur could see that the two guards had tightened their grips on the guns they held. It felt like everyone was afraid of him. 

Arthur slowly sat up and groaned as he struggled to do so. He hadn't been able to use any of his limbs for a week now and they felt stiff and sluggish. Arthur remained seated for now as he slowly stretched each of his legs separately.

Colm concluded that Arthur's body would probably need some time to re-adjust to it's new found mobility. He was still unsure if this was somehow one big plan of his to escape but it seemed so unlikely, still he'd be very careful around the man.

“Stay in here for now, stretch yer legs, I'll send in some clothes and food for ya. Then you and me will go for a walk 'n talk about things.” Colm said.

Arthur was flexing his arms now “What if I want to go outside 'n explore a bit right now?” he asked.

Colm unceremoniously dropped one of the shackles in front of Arthur's feet.

“Right.” Arthur nodded, he got the message. “So, who am I to you?” Arthur asked as he looked up at Colm.

Colm waited a long time before responding “We'll discuss everything over dinner, until then, be a good boy and stay put, Arthur.”

“Sure.” Arthur retorted. He waited until Colm and his men left the room before he attempted to stand up, this was much more difficult than he thought it would be.  
Arthur stumbled over to the nearby table so he could lean on it, his legs were trembling and he could feel a throbbing pain in his left thigh.

Now that he was able to reach the table Arthur could finally see outside his window. Judging from the height he was at he figured was on the second floor of whatever building he was in. Down below he could see a group of around eight men chatting and drinking around a campfire.

He leaned in closer to the window and could see a lot more men scattered around the area, it appeared that they were guarding the place as they were all brandishing weapons. There were some stables up ahead and fencing constructed to hold cattle. On his right he could see a large barn, he figured that's where they kept the horses he occasionally heard. Beyond the outer fencing was nothing but wide open fields as far as he could see. Arthur wondered if he was on a ranch somewhere.

After the tremors in his legs had died down a bit Arthur started to take some careful steps around the room, he wasn't too happy about having a slight limp in his left leg and he hoped it wouldn't be permanent.

When the door opened again some time later Arthur was standing on one leg, he had one hand gripping the backrest of a chair so he could maintain his balance and held on to his other leg with his free hand, he was still as naked as the day he'd been born.

Arthur looked up to see who his new visitor was, his face lit up when his nursemaid had entered. The young man's face was redder than a tomato and his eyes weren't exactly meeting Arthur’s, instead they were very downcast towards Arthur's lower body, the embarrassment in his expression made Arthur smirk. He hadn't felt anything when Colm had been vocal about his physical appearance, but the reaction of this young man made Arthur happy, there was something amusing to him about being the reason the boy was squirming from embarrassment.

Arthur lowered his leg and flexed his arm muscles before he slowly squatted down and stood up again, it was a lot of effort for him right now but he was happy to bite through it. For the first time since he woke up he felt like he was finally in control of something, even if it was another man's emotions, although judging from the bulge in the young man's crotch it hadn't seemed like he minded one bit.

“I uhm... I brought you some food and clothes, mister Morgan.” The young man said, he needed to stop staring at Arthur, not only did he feel like an idiot for doing so but he also felt something much more embarrassing down below.  
“It's uhhh.. it's good to see you out of bed.” He added, and found himself still looking anywhere but at Arthur's eyes, beautiful as he found them. He'd seen Arthur naked many times as he was cleaning him, but to see Arthur as his muscular thighs worked to support his weight, see them bulge and loosen as they did so, that was something else entirely. He could swear that Arthur was doing this on purpose to provoke a reaction from him, and it seemed that his body was fine with it as he could feel his cock was halfway to being at full attention.

Arthur stood up straight “I'm up here boy,” he said with a wide grin on his face.

The young man's eyes immediately shot up to Arthur's. “ I....I'm sorry sir” he stammered.

“Don't worry 'bout it.” Arthur held his hand out to him and waited to receive something. The young man stared dumbfounded at Arthur's hand.

“Clothes.” Arthur said with a smile, and gratefully received them.

Arthur proceeded to get dressed and quickly finished the food on his plate, famished as he was.  
His nursemaid had left in a hurry after handing over the items he was carrying, Arthur had hoped they could talk for a bit but he figured he was to blame for the young man's hasty retreat. He wondered if he pushed his luck a bit too far.

~~~

The sun had started setting for the day, Arthur was tired but he didn't want to lie down in his bed as he felt he'd done enough of that as of late. He felt relieved when Colm entered the room because it meant he could finally set his eyes on something other than this god forsaken room.

Colm was accompanied by the same two guards as earlier, he inspected Arthur for a few seconds before he nodded.  
“Let's go for a walk?” He said to Arthur as he turned around, the two guards waited for Arthur to follow him and trailed behind the pair.

They made their way through a fairly short corridor and down some stairs, those stairs had been a bit of a struggle for Arthur's sore leg and he found himself holding on to the railing as he made his way down. Once they arrived on the lower floor they passed by a dining room and were soon in the kitchen area where Arthur could see his young friend was busy cutting up some vegetables.

Colm lead them outside to an area near the barn, he unholstered his revolver and flipped it so he could hold on to it by it's barrel, he held the gun out to Arthur, who's face was plastered with confusion.

“Take it,” Colm said.

Arthur wasn't sure what Colm had planned, he reluctantly gripped his hand around the gun's stock and as he did so he could see Colm's guards tightened their grips on their own guns.

Colm pointed at a bench in the distance which had six empty bottles standing on top of it.  
“Shoot the bottles”. Colm ordered.

Arthur stared at Colm and his guards for a moment, the air felt tense as soon as Colm had given him the gun, once again Arthur could swear that they all expected him to do something crazy.

Arthur turned to face the bottles, flicked the gun sideways and checked it's cylinder to see how many bullets he had to work with, four shots, he flicked the gun again and it's cylinder snapped back in place. Arthur placed one leg slightly ahead of the other, aimed and fired four times in rapid succession, he hadn't missed a single shot as the 4 centered bottles immediately shattered.  
Arthur raised his brows in amazement, surprised at how natural it all felt to him.

Colm slowly clapped, he was pleased. “That's my boy, ain't lost yer skills just yet,” Colm said. Arthur would indeed be very useful to him, he thought.

Arthur handed the revolver back to Colm, careful not to touch the hot barrel. He sighed and felt it necessary to express his thoughts.  
“What skills Colm, when is you finally gonna tell me what the hell happened?” Arthur asked.

Colm nodded at Arthur, he hadn't looked forward to explaining anything to him, hadn't wanted Arthur to ask too many questions and dig too deeply, but he knew this would impossible to avoid. “During our meal as promised, but first there's a few more things I'll be needin' you to do. Gotta see how fit my right hand man is before I put him back to work”. Colm said and patted Arthur on the back.

Colm took Arthur around the ranch and had him perform various tasks from riding a horse to firing a rifle and even throwing a lasso. They made their way back to the house after Arthur had passed all of Colm's tests without a hitch.

Arthur once more spotted his nursemaid friend as he trailed behind Colm. The young man was scraping out a pot when a large man walked up behind him. It didn't seem right to Arthur as the hairs on his back stood up, he was immediately proven right as the larger man greeted the younger one with a swift kick in his side.

“Didn't I tell you to clean my boots, ya fuckin' queer?!” The larger man shouted as the boy was scrambling backwards in the dirt whilst he stammered out a whole bunch of apologies.

Arthur narrow his eyes and instantly stepped over towards them.  
“Hey!” Arthur shouted to grab the large bastard's attention. “Why don'tcha pick on someone yer own size?!” Arthur stopped when he less than an arms length away from his target.

Colm held out an arm to stop his bodyguards from going after Arthur, he wanted to see how this would play out. He also took note of Arthur's protective reaction towards the young man.

The large man had a wicked grin on his face, he nodded as he looked around at some of the men which started to surround them, size wise he was a whole head taller than Arthur.  
More men moved closer, they all knew there was about to be a fight an none of them wanted to miss it.

“Why 'r ye standin' up for this wretch, is you a queer too?” The large man asked as he leaned in closer to Arthur until they could feel each others breath.

Arthur's eyes were still narrowed at him, he stood perfectly still and said nothing. He was waiting.

“Go on Amos, hit 'im already!” Someone from the crowd had shouted.

Amos grabbed Arthur by the collar of his shirt and viciously headbutted him, which caused Arthur to stumble and drop on his ass. The men in the crowd started cheering.

Arthur managed to recover quickly from the blow to his head and kicked out at Amos when he approached, his boot connected with the larger man's lower leg and made Amos scream out in pain as he staggered backwards.  
Arthur took this opportunity to scramble back up and launch himself into Amos which caused him to fall down on his back with Arthur on top of him. 

Amos' mouth was agape, he hadn't understood how Arthur was able to move so fast.  
Wasting no time Arthur started to slam his fists into Amos' face, blow after blow connected and the man was too stunned to do anything about it.

Some of the men looked over at Colm who made it very clear to them that they weren't allowed to intervene.

Arthur's relentless onslaught continued until Amos' face was reduced to a bloody mess, but he wasn't done yet. Arthur wrapped both his hands around the man's throat and put all his weight into squeezing as hard as he could.  
Amos' eyes widened in fear as he struggled, he gasped for air whilst his hands clawed around in desperation. Arthur had him thoroughly pinned down and kept the pressure on Amos' throat until he stopped moving, even then he hadn't let go, he wanted him to die.

It was eerily silent around them as everyone just stared in surprise, they couldn't believe how easily Arthur had dealt with one of their best fighters, especially since most of them knew that not a week ago this same man had been on death's doorstep.

Colm on the other hand was beaming. He wanted to see if Arthur was still the ruthless killer he knew him to be. Colm had gladly sacrificed one of his better men to find out and was happy to see Arthur still held up to his reputation.  
He couldn't wait to get this mountain of a man under his control. The twitch in Colm's pants had finally returned.

Arthur stood up and looked down at Amos' body whilst he heavily panted, his hands were still clenched in to fists because the rage hadn't quite left his body. 

Colm looked over at the young man who was still on his ass in the dirt and motioned at him to leave, which he instantly did. Colm then gave Arthur a single pat on his shoulder. 

“You did well, now let's eat.” Colm casually said as he headed into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a slow one here, sorry, hope no one minds. I don't like skipping too much and would rather get 2 pages of dialogue or what may be perceived as boring stuff in as opposed to going “he was angry, they fought and he won” or something like that. This may be a mistake on my end, not sure
> 
> Also since I feel I've slightly ( emphasis on slighty ) improved since I started, I went back and did some edits on chapter 1 ( no major changes ) I think I'll have to check out some more of them as well.
> 
> As always thank you for reading the story and my horrid rants at the end of it. Much love <3


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur and Colm were seated in the dining room, they each had a plate of food in front of them which was served up by the boy Arthur had just fought and killed for. Arthur hadn't made any eye contact with the young man since.  
He felt no regret for ending another man's life, he briefly wondered if he should. The fight, as brief as it was had exhilarated him, he actually wished it had lasted longer and again he wasn't sure why that was. This of all things frustrated him the most.

Colm had been watching Arthur as they picked at their respective plates of food. He could see the man was having some sort of intense inner monologue.  
Colm decided it was time to set his plan in to motion, he had thought long and hard about the best approach and felt pleasantly surprised when Arthur of all people had presented him with the perfect way to move forward.

“Dutch Van der Linde, does the name ring a bell?” Colm asked, he knew it was risky but he had no choice.

When Colm mentioned the name Arthur's hand stopped poking at his food and his brows pulled together in a deep frown.  
“Dutch...” Arthur repeated, this was the first time there was a mention of a name Arthur felt he should recognize, as he rubbed his temple in frustration he saw some flashes of a memory, but it was all too fast for him to properly piece together.

“I remember being...on a hill, looking down at a bunch 'o people.” Arthur said, more so to himself than Colm.  
“Can't see their faces, 's too far,” Arthur continued, his eyes were closed now.

Colm did not want to interrupt, he was waiting to see how he could twist this to his advantage.

“Think this Dutch feller was there.” Arthur said, he shook his head as one hand reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Help me out here Colm,” he groaned.

“Old Dutch arranged a meeting, said he wanted to talk about peace between our groups.” Colm said.

“Peace...” Arthur nodded slowly. “'m guessing things went wrong?” he asked.

Colm let out a short affirmative grunt “You ain't wrong there, turns out that bastard Van der Linde set the whole thing up just so he could grab ya and turn ya in to the law”.

“Why?” Arthur cocked his head at Colm.

“Because he knows you're the best man I have.” Colm uttered the words as if it was the most obvious statement he could ever make.

“This... Dutch, did he do this to me?” Arthur's hand briefly waved at his own chest, hidden underneath the shirt there were still many scars from all the knife cuts he had suffered through.

Colm nodded. “Him and his gang of degenerates, we were comin' to rescue ya but you was already gone, found ya further down the river, barely breathin' and took ya to a doctor”.

“I remember the damned river, figures that's all I'd properly remember” Arthur grumbled.

“You did good, Arthur. You got out on yer own and we found ya, that's all that matters.” Colm gave him a nod of encouragement.

Arthur sighed. “How do I know you ain't lyin'?” Arthur's brows were knitted in a frown as he searched Colm's expressions for truth or lie's.

Colm maintained eye contact with Arthur as he spoke “If I were lying why would I be feedin' ya, give ya clothes, a roof above your head. You're important to me Arthur and I give the best to them who give me their best, which you always have.”

“If I've been givin' you my best for so long, why does this Dutch sound more familiar than you did?” Arthur squinted his eyes after he asked his question.

“The Van der Linde's... Dutch especially, they been more than a nuisance to us for years, it don't surprise me that he'd be the one in the back of yer mind”. Colm was doing his best to improvise, he feared that Arthur wouldn't just take his word for it and start digging deeper, which is exactly what he was doing right now.

“What about this Hosea Matthews you mentioned, where does he fit in to all of this?” Arthur asked.

Colm silently cursed to himself, he had forgotten about his little test to see if Arthur really didn't remember who he was.  
“Matthews...” Colm paused “He was Dutch's right hand man and almost as much of a monster, feller did some real nasty things to some friends of us, thought you'd be happy to hear 'bout him being six foot under.”

_“Never give up until you're six foot underground, son.”_

Arthur's lips parted every so slightly when he heard the voice of what sounded like an older man in his head, he wanted to asked Colm about it but decided he'd best keep it to himself for now. This was the first time he could hear someones voice in his head, no name or face as always, but it was something.

Colm could tell there was brief change in Arthur's expression and that he stopped himself from speaking “Yes?” he urged.

Arthur shook his head at Colm “Thought I remembered somethin' else but... 't was nothing.”

They resumed their meal in silence, Colm was relieved that the questions had stopped for now, he could tell that Arthur wasn't entirely convinced of the events that were described to him but he settled with what he got for now, no doubt his mind was busy trying to pick things apart.

Night time approached rapidly, Colm picked up a napkin and dipped it against the corners of his mouth.  
“Get some rest Arthur, you need it, got an easy job lined up for ya tomorrow, just to get'cha back in to the swing o' things, we'll ride out early.” Colm stood up from his chair and made his way over to a door in the hallway of the ground floor.

“Colm, why didn't ya stop me from killin' him?” Arthur asked with a low voice, he was standing in the archway as he had quietly followed Colm for a few steps.

Colm's hand was resting on the doorknob, he hadn't turned to face Arthur, not even when he spoke.  
“ 'Cause everyone needed to see that my second in command was as strong as ever and still worthy of their respect.” Colm said, then he finally turned to face Arthur.  
“A show of strength earns ya respect, and respect will make them follow you, fear on the other hand... well fear can be a powerful catalyst to so much more.” Colm's lips curled up and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  
“Good night Arthur”.

Arthur lingered in the hallway after Colm had disappeared in to his room, the clanging noise of cutlery behind him disrupted Arthur's train of thought, when he turned his head towards the noise he could see his nursemaid was busy cleaning up the dining table. Their eyes interlinked for a brief moment and Arthur hadn't missed the look of disappointment in the young man's eyes.  
Arthur's mouth opened briefly, he wanted to say something but decided not to and went up to his room instead.

~~~

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed and removed his boots, he knew he should be analyzing everything Colm had said but his mind couldn't focus on any of that right now. He could only think about those sad green eyes which stared back at him only moments ago. Had the boy never seen a man die? Taking a life hadn't felt like a new experience to Arthur, something told him that it was the right thing to do when someone had wronged you in a bad way. Had he been wronged? After all the man did nothing more than bully someone, it was a shitty thing to do, but was it worth being killed over? Arthur found himself staring down at his hands as his brain fired off question after question.

Not much later there was a soft knock on Arthur's door. He waited for it to open and frowned when it hadn't.  
“...Come in?” Arthur said, even though it sounded more like a question as he was not used to such politeness, when he was shackled to the bed everyone just came and went as they pleased.

The door to his room slowly opened as the young man lingered for a moment, it seemed that he was trying to muster up some courage before he'd come in.

“You be needin' something?” Arthur asked.

The young man took a few careful steps inside and closed the door behind him, his gaze was cast downward and he was fiddling around with his fingers.

Arthur studied the boy's demeanor and figured he'd have to coax him a little.  
“Speak, boy.” Arthur ordered.

The young man mumbled some things under his breath, things which were impossible to hear unless you were standing right next to him.

Arthur felt impatient and rolled his eyes.  
“Come 'ere,” he said as he pointed at the floor in front of his feet. “Then repeat what you said,” he added.

The young man lifted his head and saw Arthur had pointed out a spot for him to stand on. He slowly stepped over to were Arthur had told him to. He rubbed the side of his shirt for a moment as his hands felt very sweaty. “I ehm, wanted t-to thank you, f-for earlier,” he stammered.

“Don't mention it”. Arthur looked up at the young man. He thought the boy would have been afraid of him after seeing him kill a man, he got that impression from the boy whilst he was serving them during his and Colm's dinner talk. Maybe he was wrong? Arthur wondered.

The young man got down on his knees and used his hands to slowly spread Arthur's thighs. He then reached for the buttons on Arthur's pants and unbuttoned the topmost one first.

Arthur found himself to be enthralled by the submissive nature of this young man who was on his knees before him, his motions were slow but calculated and Arthur's body couldn't help but react to it. Arthur gently grabbed hold of the boys wrists.  
“What'cha doing, boy?” He asked with a more serious tone.

“I...this is how I'm s-supposed to sh-show thanks.” The young man stammered nervously.

Arthur searched the boys eyes, he couldn't tell if he was nervous because of Arthur's presence, his recent actions or because he had some unpleasant experiences with this in the past.  
“Not for me” Arthur's voice was gruff.

The young man was visibly confused, this was a response he wasn't accustomed to, with Colm it had always been rough and straight to business.  
Why was it different with Arthur? Not long ago he saw him choke the life out of a man, a man who'd been tormenting him for weeks, but still. How could Arthur kill in one moment and be the kindest soul he'd ever met in the next? Perhaps it was all a ruse so he would let his guard down, but that made no sense to him. He never had anyone who stood up for him, let alone kill for him.  
His train of thought was interrupted when he felt Arthur's large, warm hands on top of his cheeks, his eyes widened in surprise when all of sudden Arthur's lips smacked against his own, he couldn't hold back a soft moan, this was what he had been dreaming about for days now.

It was a heat of the moment decision which Arthur had no regrets for, the young man's soft lips being pressed against his own had sent a wave of pleasure through his body, and when the young man moaned oh so softly Arthur thought his cock was going to burst out of his pants.

Arthur let his left hand slide across the young man's shoulder and down his side until it was resting on his hip, before he slowly pulled his head back and disconnected their lips from each other, for a brief moment his eyes lingered on those luscious lips.

The young man still had his eyes closed and leaned in towards Arthur as he felt him pull away, he wished they could have stayed like that forever. The tip of his tongue barely slid out of his mouth as he stroked it across his lips and savored the aftertaste of Arthur.

“You're so beautiful,” Arthur huffed.

A single tear trickled down the young man's face, he had never experienced affection like this and felt very emotional about it. He thought he would die from absolute happiness when he felt Arthur's thumb gently brush the tear away.

Arthur pulled him up to his feet, the boy looked like he was about to pass out as his legs seemed to be very wobbly. Just to be safe Arthur held on to him as he carefully guided him over towards the door.  
“You okay?” Arthur asked with a close mouthed smile on his face.

The young man's breathing was heavy and his face glowed red but he nodded as he steadied himself.

“I think we both need to get some sleep.” Arthur stated as one of his hands let go of the boy. The other hand was still resting on the young man's shoulder and his index finger snaked over from the side of the man's neck all the way to his nape, barely touching him, but enough for him to feel it.

Arthur's small gesture was rewarded when he heard a deliciously pathetic whimper coming from the younger man, he moved over to his bedside and started to unbutton his shirt when he heard the door open and close behind him.

Arthur's teeth were showing because of his face-wide smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter than the more recent ones, wasn't having a good day and I really wanted to end a chapter on a more positive note for a change. ( Besides, our boah deserved a bit of happiness )
> 
> Also herp derp romance, first time trying it, not very good at it, sorry!!
> 
> I really wanted this to be a much longer chapter so we could get back to present day without so many chapters from then to now but oh well, things don't always go as planned.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

The sun had made it's early morning appearance as the young man made his way around the ranch, last night had been amazing for him and he couldn't stop thinking about it, about Arthur Morgan. He wished he could have just crawled in bed with him then and there and wondered how it would feel to be tightly embraced by those muscular arms.

He'd been instructed to leave a shaving kit in Arthur's room so he gathered the necessary items and made his way up. He stopped outside of Arthur's door and briefly considered if he should knock, but it was so early that he hadn't wanted to wake the man just yet. With a gentile nudge he opened the door and carefully stepped inside the room. He could hear Arthur's soft snoring as the man was laying face up in his bed with one arm underneath his head. With great care he managed to set down all the items he was holding on top of the small table as quietly as possible, breakfast included.

On his way towards the door the young man couldn't help but stare at the tent shaped bulge where Arthur's groin area would be. For a moment he considered to peek underneath the bed sheets, many times had he seen Arthur fully naked but never when his cock was anything more than just flaccid. As he softly bit his lower lip he took a few careful steps towards Arthur's bed, no one but him would ever know, he thought as his hand slowly reached out to lift the sheets.

When he was but a thumbs leg away from accomplishing his mission his wrist had been rapidly grabbed and his face went pale. Arthur wasn't asleep, or he woke him up somehow and the man had just been lurking with his eyes closed, he was also fast, good lord was he fast, the young man thought as his fear levels rose, afraid that Arthur would throttle him for this.

“You gotta buy me dinner first, boy.” Arthur said in his gravelly morning voice, his lips were pursed up ever so slightly and his eyes remained closed.

Arthur's non murderous expression made the young man's face turn from a fear filled paleness to a hot red mess of embarrassment within seconds. If Arthur wasn't going to kill him then he'd do it himself, he felt like an idiot. “M-Mister Morgan, I... 'm s-so sorry,” he barely managed to say.

Arthur hadn't released his grip on the boy's wrist, his free hand tossed the bed sheet which covered him to the side. Arthur slowly sat up and let one leg dangle off the side of the bed until his foot touched the floor, the other leg he drew up towards his body.  
“What would you do for this, boy?” Arthur's voice was low and his eyes were staring down at his own cock.

“Anything...” the young man whispered.

Arthur guided his hand closer to his groin and the young man's one along with it as he still held on to his wrist, close enough so the young man's finger could touch the the tip of Arthur's cock until it did so. Arthur's cock twitched in response to not only the touch but also because Arthur felt his arousal increase when it became evident to him that he was once more in complete control of every aspect which currently transpired.

Arthur let go of the boy's wrist and almost immediately stood up, they were in very close proximity of each other, so much so that the tip of the young man's nose was tickling Arthur's neck. He really wanted to throw the boy on his bed and take him right now, but after last night he figured a more subtle approach would get better appreciation from this gentile soul.  
Arthur placed one hand on the man's crotch and gave his bulge a light squeeze, in response to that the boy titled his head backwards and parted his lips as a moan escaped from them.

“Right, time to get to work” Arthur said as he lightly slapped the boy's ass just one time before he made his way over to the table, he could hear that pathetic whimpering noise come from behind him again and his dick hardened even more so. Arthur silently cursed to himself, he was supposed to be playing with the boys cock, not torment his own in the process.

The young man couldn't believe it, Arthur had once more played him like a fiddle. His heart was still racing in his chest and his cock was throbbing painfully in his paints, but now Arthur wanted him to leave and just do his daily chores with a massive bulge down below, like nothing happened? That bastard, the young man thought, but he loved it. When he exited the room he knew he'd have to sneak off somewhere for a bit and take care of himself or else he'd be very uncomfortable.

Arthur took his time getting dressed, he more or less had to since he didn't want to leave the room in his current state, he shoved some food in his mouth and decided to check out the state of his facial hair in the mirror the boy had left him. Arthur lifted his chin as he stroked his hand along the hairs on his cheek.

“You ugly bastard.” He sighed at himself through the mirror as he leaned in closer so he could get a better look at the newest addition to his already weathered body, he slowly traced a finger along the scar across his temple. “Good job being even more unattractive, you moron.” Arthur shook his head at himself.

When he glanced out the window he could see Colm and some men were getting their horses saddled and Arthur figured he'd best hurry to join them, he might shave later.

~~~

Colm was already seated on his horse when Arthur approached.  
“Nice of ya to join us”. Colm pointed out his usual two bodyguards to Arthur. “Owen and Jesse here will be ridin' along”.

Arthur nodded at the men and they returned the gesture.  
A young man who looked to be around the same age as Arthur's nursemaid was leading a horse over to Arthur and handed him the reins.

“Mount up” Colm ordered.

Arthur briefly patted the brown Tennessee walker he was given before he mounted up.  
“So what we doin'?” Arthur rode alongside of Colm as Owen and Jesse trialed behind them.

“First we be needin' to go collect on a few loans that are long overdue.” Colm said.

“And will those folk be able to repay 'em?” Arthur could already guess how this would go.

“We'll see.” Colm smirked.

“So...” Arthur hesitated for a moment “The Van der Linde's, they your rivals then?”

“Our rival's Arthur, and yes, they is. Weren't always, but then Dutch shot my brother in cold blood, the bastard”.

“Hm, that's bad business,” was all Arthur could say to that.

“We turn left up ahead, feller named Clifford Ellis owes me two hundred dollars.” Colm lead the way until they arrived at a disheveled looking shack. An elderly man was busy feeding his chickens when the men rode up to him.

“Mr. Ellis, I believe you still be owing me some money.” Colm had dismounted and walked over to the fencing, he leaned one shoulder against it.

“I ain't got enough for ya just yet Mr. O'Driscoll and I need what I got to feed ma chickens so as I can get ya more,” the elderly man blurted out, his eyes darted between Arthur and Colm.

Colm gave Arthur an affirming nod which he took as his queue to jump in.

Arthur slammed his fist into the man's stomach. “You'd best be coughing up some money 'cause I swear you'll be coughing up something before I'm done with ya.”

The elderly man doubled over in pain, his body was no longer able to withstand pain like this so he relented immediately. “T-there's an envelope b-behind the d-dresser,” he struggled to get the words out as he sat on his knees and trembled uncontrollably.

Arthur didn't spare him another glance and forced his way in to the shack, within seconds he was outside again and waved the envelope at Colm.

“Someone will be back soon for the rest Mr. Ellis.” Colm patted the old man on the shoulder as he walked by him, before he mounted up Colm accepted the envelope from Arthur.

“You handled that well, Arthur, good to see ya getting back to yer old self so fast.” Colm ushered his horse forward.

Arthur remained silent, he felt sick to his stomach. He hadn't intentionally hit the old man so hard, it just happened. He wanted to show Colm that he could get things done fast and efficient, but why was he so eager to prove something to Colm? He wasn't even sure if the man was being completely honest with him about everything. But if he wasn't, what would have been his motivation to lie? Arthur quickly lost himself in his mind, he was riding on autopilot now as he tried to come up with various scenarios which would make it plausible that Colm wasn't telling him the whole story.

~~~

Arthur and Colm rode in silence whilst Jesse and Owen were sharing some campfire stories amongst themselves, Colm had started to guide them through some narrow paths.

Arthur had some more questions ready but was interrupted when he heard what he could tell was a woman crying and sobbing from the direction of the small homestead on his left. Without hesitation he pulled on the reins of his horse and guided his steed towards the place.

Colm had a devious grin on his face as he slowly followed.

Arthur almost leaped off his horse and hurried over to where he could see the young woman. She was sitting in the dirt, her knees were drawn up to her chest and her wrists were tied above her head to a short wooden pole.

“Miss...” Arthur spoke softly, he grimaced as he could see her face was covered in bruises and her light gray dress had bloodstains all over it. As soon as she raised her head and became aware of Arthur's presence she struggled wildly and shrieked loudly.

“No, no!! Please don't hurt me again!” her eyes were frozen open and she got increasingly paler.

“Miss, I ain't here to hurt ya” Arthur continued to speak to her in a soft manner, he held both his hands out in surrender so he'd appear as non threatening as possible.

The young girl tensed up when Arthur had leaned in to remove the knots from her bindings.

“It's okay, you're safe now,” he gently took her hands in his own and helped her stand up.

“Do you live here, miss?” Arthur wrapped his arms around her as she started sobbing against his chest, she shook her head against it in response to Arthur's question.

“M-my f-family lives in Van Horn,” her shaking died down a little as Arthur continued to hold her.

Arthur felt disgusted at the thought of someone being able to harm a women in this manner.

“Who did this to you, Miss?” he pulled away from her ever so slightly so their eyes would meet.

“They.. they s-said they w-were with the Van der Linde g-gang and if I t-told the law they'd c-come back and f-finish the job”. Her tears started flowing again as soon as she stopped speaking, Arthur had to hold her closer once more and rested his chin on top of her head as his hand rubbed around in circles on her back.

“Did they” Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat, “they do anything more than hit you?”  
He could feel her grip on his shirt tighten as she slowly nodded.

Arthur clenched his jaw as his anger continued to build.  
“Did they say where they was going?” he felt her shake her head again.

He cast a sideways glance at Colm. “We'll take you home, miss” Arthur said as he guided her over to his horse. 

A short ride later they arrived in Van Horn and Arthur made sure that the young lady was safe with the rest of her family.

~~~

When the four men were alone again on their way back east Arthur couldn't contain his anger anymore.

“Those god damned cowards, we be needin' to go back 'n check for tracks.” Arthur was grinding his teeth.

“This ain't the time for revenge, Arthur.” Colm's voice was stern.

“Ain't the time?! Did yous not see what I saw, what they done!?” Arthur shouted.

Colm slowly turned his head towards Arthur and scowled at him.

Arthur sighed, he knew what Colm was saying, he was being disrespectful. “'m sorry Colm, 's just, someone be needin' to pay for this.” Arthur said with a much calmer voice.

Colm's scowl faded when he saw Arthur understood his place. “And they will, but now ain't the time with just the four of us”.

Arthur knew Colm was right, heck he wasn't even armed, three and a half men versus who knows how many would not end up well for them.

~~~

They had been riding east for an hour or so but Arthur no longer felt like asking questions, all he could think about was what kind of coward a man had to be to gang up on a defenseless woman of all things.

Arthur had fully calmed down by the time they approached a modest looking house adorned with flowers.

“Right” Colm brought his horse to a halt “This'll be the last one for today, one Albert Mason, owes me one twenty dollars.”

Arthur nodded and made his way over to the building, he banged loudly on the door. “Mr. Mason, I'm here to collect!” He shouted.

When the door opened Arthur could see the face of the man who greeted him light up instantly.

“Mr. Morgan! Oh heavens it's so good to see you again, what brings you here?” Albert was beaming and his eyes sparkled with delight.

Arthur blinked rapidly, this was a greeting he hadn't expected. This man knew him and seemed to be happy to see him again. What kind of fool would be happy to see a debt collector at their door? Arthur asked himself.

“Please! Do come in, I have some new prints I'd love to show you.” Albert frowned when Arthur hadn't moved at all. “Are you quite alright there, Mr. Morgan?” he asked.

“I....” Arthur was at a loss for words, he hadn't recognized the man's face or even his name, yet there was no doubt that they seemed to be on friendly terms with each other. Now here he was, ready to beat the ever living shit out of the man only a moment ago.

“Is there a problem?” Colm's voice rang out from behind Arthur, it had made him flinch.

Colm had heard a bit of the exchange and he'd seen the happy expressions on Mason's face. He cursed himself silently, had he known that these two knew each other he'd never have come here. He'd have to be more careful with that from now on.

Albert stood on his tiptoe's for a second so he could glance over Arthur's shoulder and see who was speaking from behind him, when he saw Colm on his horse his eyes had widened in shock, he knew why Colm was here but he didn't understand why his old friend was with him.  
“Mr. Morgan...I do-” Albert couldn't finish his sentence before Arthur's hand was on his throat and he was being pushed further back in to his home as he struggled to breathe.

Arthur shoved him to the ground and stood over him as he looked down, he sniffed  
“You owe Mr. O'Discroll money, so pay up!” He exclaimed.

Albert was terrified and crawled backwards but Arthur just walked along with his movements.  
“Mr. Morgan... w-why are y-you, I d-don't...”. Albert was too stunned to formulate a proper sentence.

Arthur tilted his head backwards and let out an exasperated sigh. He couldn't do it.  
“Shit” Arthur crouched down next to Albert and spoke very quietly.  
“Listen mister... Mason, was it? Things is too complicated to explain right now but Mr O'Driscoll will be needin' his money, and if I don't get it from you, one them boys outside will. I can promise you that they ain't gonna be as friendly as I am.” Arthur sighed again when Albert didn't respond “...please,” he added with a sense of urgency in his voice.

Albert grimaced at Arthur's words but he also nodded and crawled over to a cabinet nearby, he searched through it's drawers as fast as he could.

Arthur felt that sickness in his stomach again, he wondered if this is really the kind of man he was, and if so, if he still wanted to be that man. As he waited for Albert to gather what he came for he found himself looking at all the various wildlife photographs which covered the walls around him. They looked magnificent and Arthur couldn't help but be in awe of them. His eyes lingered on a picture of a pack of wolves, it looked like they were fairly close to the camera and he wondered how a man like Albert had managed to take their picture and not get himself eaten.

“Here, here!” Albert had hurried over to Arthur carrying a few bills of cash and some jewelry “This should cover most of it, p-please tell Mr. O'Driscoll I'll have the r-rest in a few days.”

“You'd better” Arthur's words had sounded more threatening than he would have liked.

“Mr. Morgan,” Albert called out, he waited until Arthur looked him in the eyes. “I'm sorry.” he whispered, his eyes were filled with sorrow.

Arthur could feel his heartbeat speed up and his face was flushed. He couldn't be sure but it felt like Albert said sorry not because of something he thought he did wrong but because he saw he had lost a friend in Arthur. Shame overwhelmed him, he felt like he betrayed a friend he couldn't remember having. Arthur wanted to vomit.

Outside Colm held his hand out to receive the payment he was due. Arthur handed him the few bills and jewelry without looking up at Colm, he also took his time to get back to his horse.

Colm knew this would be a problem. He couldn't let Arthur dig around in his past too much, if he decided to come back here at a later time then it would be possible that a worm like this Albert Mason would start a chain reaction which would make him lose his grasp on Arthur.

Colm waited until Arthur's back was turned to him as he got ready to mount up, he then half nodded at his bodyguards to grab their attention, when they were looking at him Colm drew his thumb across his throat and motioned at Albert's house. Both of them nodded in understanding.

On their way back to the ranch Arthur rode alongside of Colm in complete silence, he was so absorbed in self pity that he hadn't noticed Jesse and Owen weren't with them just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so... ehm... IM SORRY ( most of you will know why ) it had to be done.
> 
> Also I know that those of you who are invested in the story ( thank you for that ) have been waiting for some time now to see what happened to Dutch. To explain the delay; I usually have an idea or 2 of what I want to do in each chapter and just write around it, then suddenly a sporadic moment pops up which turns into an important character building moment for Arthur.  
> When that happens I feel compelled to leave it as the only one in the chapter so that it keeps it's importance and isn't pushed to the background by other critical moments.
> 
> I hope you can understand, I'm almost at a point where I feel ready to get back to Dutch, just need to cover at least one more thing.
> 
> Much love as always, thanks for your time and feedback is always very much appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur rubbed his arms together as the cold morning air sent a small shiver through him, he was on his daily morning walk around the perimeter of the ranch. It had been a few days since he last went out with Colm, he'd been stuck on the ranch ever since and part of him hated that. Though it wasn't all bad for him here, besides Colm he had the biggest room, food was always brought to him, his clothes would be washed for him and he didn't have to lift a finger around the ranch. Everyone seemed to respect him and they always offered him cigarettes and drinks. Arthur never really mingled with any of the men here, he'd preferred solitude and found a nice spot in the nearby treeline where he could be alone with his thoughts.

Arthur hadn't had any nightmares about drowning nor recollections of strange faces with no voices to match them. He was relieved that the river nightmares seemed to be gone but he couldn't say the same about the rest of his memory. There had been no new information for him to work with, being stuck on the ranch as he was. Colm had told him that he needed to stay put for some time and could only leave with a heavy escort until the Van der Linde's were driven out of their area.

Arthur could hear a few men walking by, he figured they'd been patrolling the area. It seemed that the men hadn't noticed him and he was happy to keep it that way.

“You got any job's going today?”

“Yeah me and some boys are heading up to some cabin at O'Creagh's run to smash the place up and then force the bastards who live there to take out a loan with Colm to fix their place back up.”

“Ah you lucky bastard, I'm stuck on guard duty today.”

“So what happens if they refuse to take the loan?”

“If they take the loan they gotta pay us back with interest, if they refuse we pay 'em with a beating or a bullet”

The men laughed among themselves as they moved out of earshot from Arthur.

Arthur hadn't been able to tell who said what but that hadn't mattered. He was absolutely fuming at the idea that Colm was extorting seemingly kind folk, like that man with the pictures he'd almost beaten for Colm a few days ago. Arthur got up and went straight for Colm's room, he'd forgone the knocking and abruptly stormed in.

Colm was busy going over some future plans with Jesse when Arthur unceremoniously entered. 

“You wanna tell me why the hell you got men exortin' money from innocent folk?!” Arthur snarled, he couldn't care less that Jesse was in the room with them.

Colm calmly set the ledger he was holding down on the table in front of him, Jesse knew he should leave and Colm had waited for him to do so.  
“Now you best be rememberin' who you're speaking to, Arthur” Colm glared at him.

“Answer the god damned question!” Arthur was practically shouting.

Colm was standing up straight with his chin slightly raised, his hands were behind his back and he continuously maintained eye contact with Arthur but said nothing.

Arthur completely lost his temper and picked up a half empty bottle from a small table right next to him, he threw it past Colm's head and it smashed in to pieces against the wall behind him.

Colm hadn't flinched nor had he changed his posture.

Arthur let out a guttural scream, he left Colm's room and slammed the door shut behind him, he immediately started pacing back and forth in the hallway in an attempt to calm himself. He knew the rules after he'd done the same thing not long ago. Always knock, always be respectful, else you get nothing.

Some time passed and Colm was now seated. He was going over some documents when he heard a knock on his door, a lopsided smile formed on his face and he sat up straight.

Colm purposely waited for almost a minute before he spoke “Enter.”

Arthur stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, he kept his head slightly lowered. His breathing was still somewhat labored, Colm could tell he hadn't fully calmed down yet.

“ 'm sorry Colm, lost ma temper.” Arthur mumbled.

Colm said nothing, he waited for Arthur to continue.

Arthur let out an elongated exhale to calm himself down even more so and did his best to not sound agitated.  
“Heard some of the boys outside, they was talking about how you extort innocent folk and force 'em into loaning from ya,” he said as calmly as was currently possible for him.

“And you have a problem with that.” Colm said.

There was a small delay before Arthur replied “...I do.”

Colm pondered for a moment until his lips curled up with a wicked smile “Fine, I'll be sure to consider it”.

“Thank you” Arthur cleared his throat, being forced to control his temper still felt like a new experience to him, he was about to leave when Colm called out his name, so he turned around to face him again.

Arthur followed Colm's gaze to the mess he made when he threw a bottle at him.

“Right.” Arthur sighed and left to get some cleaning supplies, when he returned he gathered up all the broken glass and did his best to scrub the floor, he absolutely hated having to do this but it was fair, he thought. When he was done he took the bucket full of glass and was ready to leave.

“Oh and Arthur,” Colm spoke for the first time since he made Arthur clean up. “You'll be fixin' me dinner tonight and serve it to me.”

Arthur clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the doorknob as he stood there for a moment before he finally left.

Colm was in his element, being able to bend Arthur to his will had felt more satisfying than he imagined. It hadn't been easy and Arthur still needed a lot of work but he started to get a clearer vision of what would and wouldn't work on him. He could tell Arthur had a high sense of honor and was eager to jump in and help those who needed it, that should be easy to exploit, Colm thought.

Arthur cursed himself silently, this was the punishment for his tantrum, he thought as he left the room. “Now I'm a god damned nursemaid” he grumbled to himself. Arthur promised himself he'd work more on controlling his anger, he'd hate to lose all his luxuries and privileges because he lacked self control.

~~~

It was close to noon when Arthur had retreated to his usual spot in the woods right outside the ranch, he sat on his log whilst he'd been enjoying a smoke and a beer. His mind kept trying to find something which would help him remember that Mason feller. He'd been the only person whom Arthur encountered thusfar which seemed to know him, maybe if they could have a chat it would help him in some way. He figured he'd best try to go alone, having Jesse and Owen there would probably not go over well and especially not Colm.

Colm... Arthur still couldn't fully figure the man out, he seemed very smart and observant, that much he'd gathered , he was always busy running his various operations across the regions. Arthur remembered how angry he'd been this morning when he found out what Colm had been doing to the people he was loaning to, however he had to admit to himself that part of him knew there was no way that Colm would have been doing any sort of legitimate business, most of his men looked like they'd kill you for less than a dollar and they were all heavily armed too.

So how did he end up joining this group then? He really didn't feel like he belonged among men like this, or did he? He hadn't forgotten how he enjoyed strangling that big brute to death not long ago or how he instinctively knocked the wind out of a defenseless old man, just for money, or to appease Colm, Arthur just wasn't sure of himself anymore, of who the real him was.

“You look like you really wouldn't want some company right now.”

Arthur kept his head lowered, he recognized the voice of his nursemaid all too well, he continued to rub his thumb against the bottle in his hand and merely grunted in response.

The young man sat down on the same log as Arthur, which forced him to make some room so they wouldn't be squished together. Not that either of them would have minded, but they were more or less in view of the ranch so now was not the best time for any sort of intimacy and they both knew that.

The young man let out a content sigh, so far he hadn't said anything else, he felt like he already forced himself upon Arthur when he joined him in what he knew to be his private thinking spot, but the man had looked more depressed than usual and he'd overheard the incident with Colm from this morning, so he figured he'd just provide Arthur with some company, silent or not.

Arthur took another sip from his beer, tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with his foot. He felt a bit awkward as he'd rather be left alone right now, but he had no desire to be rude to the boy either. Arthur cleared his throat.  
“So uhm.... just realized I've known ya for two weeks or so 'n never really asked what yer name is.”

“It's maid, nurse maid.” The young man couldn't stifle a smile when Arthur gave him an amused sideways glance.

“Noah, Noah Yates, pleased to meet you Arthur Morgan.” Noah held his hand out to Arthur.

Arthur rolled his eyes with a thin smile on his face, he shook the boys hand and nodded at him, the joke and lighthearted formality had visibly brightened his mood.

Arthur fiddled with the bottle in his hands. “Noah,” he paused “,'s a nice name.”

Noah shrugged his shoulders in response, he'd never been good with compliments.

“How'd ya end up with a ragtag group like this, no offense but... ya don't exactly seem to fit in, I mean... you actually bathe.”

Noah chuckled and lowered his head “Uhm... my father was Mr. O'Driscoll's doctor, his office was in Strawberry where we lived.” Noah paused, he started to push a small pebble around with his foot and his shoulders had sagged after he sighed deeply.

“A month ago I was helping my father with a sick child when there was a jail breakout or something then some crazy men started shooting up the town.” Noah started chewing on his lower lip as his eyes welled up with tears.  
“Father told me to stay under the table as he went out to help folk and... never came back”.

“Shit... that's bad business,” curious eyes be damned, Arthur thought as he wrapped an arm around Noah and pulled him closer.

After a few minutes of silence Noah used his sleeve to wipe his face, cleared his throat and straightened himself again as Arthur's arm disappeared.

Noah sniffed “Mr. O'Driscoll came by after a few days for a check up on an old wound of his, found me there on my own and offered me to come with him. With me having some experience from helping my father out he figured I'd be a good addition to his uhm, group, I was alone and didn't know what to do with myself so I figured why not.”

Arthur took a large gulp from his beer bottle “How come yous cleaning and cookin' for him... us then?”

Noah shrugged “There isn't always someone who needs tending to, have to earn my keep somehow, I got a small room in the house, unlike most others, so I can't complain.”

“Hm..guess not, did they ehm... ever catch the bastards who shot yer pa?” Arthur's intention had not been to upset Noah further, he wanted to see if he there was anything he could to do for him in case those criminals were still out there.

_“Revenge is a fool's game.”_

A slight frown appeared on Arthur's face, it had been a long time since he could distinguish a different voice in his thoughts, but with no face or name to match it, as always, the memory might as well not have been there.

Noah shook his head “No they were never caught by the law. Mr. O'Driscoll looked into it and said it was two of Van der Linde's men. Few days later some of Colm's, eh... Mr. O'Driscoll's boys actually caught one of them.”

“Seems to always be them god damned Van der Linde's.” Arthur tightened his grip on the bottle in his hand.

“Mr. O'Driscoll had some boys take me to the place they had him at, he ehm...” Noah paused to clear his throat, “put a gun in my hands and told me to shoot him”.

Arthur slightly turned his head and sideways glanced at Noah “Did ya?”

Noah swallowed hard “I wanted to, I really did. But then the man got very scared and offered to help Mr. O'Driscoll take down the Van der Linde gang, so he sent me away.”

Arthur exhaled noisily through his pursed lips “Figures they'd be cowards who rat each other out as soon as things be gettin' dicey.”

Noah wanted a change of subject, the memories were still too fresh and unpleasant.  
“How have your memories been Mr. Morgan, any luck?”

Arthur lazily smiled “It's Arthur and no, no luck.”

“Hey boy, Colm needs ya!” One of the men shouted in their direction from the fencing.

“Think he's talkin' to you or me?” Arthur smirked and they both chuckled in unison.

Noah got up and turned his head towards Arthur when the man had grabbed hold of his wrist, he frowned when he saw a look of concern on Arthur's face.

“They still hasslin' ya?” Arthur asked.

A warm smile appeared on Noah's face, Arthur's concern for his well being made him feel butterflies in his stomach “Not since you stood up for me”.

Arthur's voice was low and had a very serious tone to it. “If they do, you be sure to tell me.”

Noah turned his body around so he could fully face him “Mr. Mor- ...Arthur, as flattering as the idea of you murdering your way through a whole ranch just for me, sounds, I'd appreciate you keeping the number at just one, I doubt they'll be bothering me again”. Noah hastily looked around to make sure no one was watching and gave Arthur a quick peck on his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered before he hurried off to the house.

Arthur leaned back on his log and exhaled until his lungs were completely devoid of air.  
“No... thank you,” he said to no one and smiled as he licked his lips. Noah had appeared more relaxed around him than ever, he hadn't stuttered a single time either, Arthur thought.  
But those damned Van der Linde's, they always seemed to be around when trouble was a foot. Naoh said Colm now had one the two men responsible for the death of his old man under his thumb, he'd have to see what he could find out about the other one. For a man with no memories of his past he sure had a long list of things to do, Arthur sighed at the thought.

~~~

During his afternoon smoke Arthur spotted a lone horse a few feet away from his relaxation spot, he scanned the surrounding area but couldn't see a rider around. He wondered if one of the boys got off in a hurry and forgot he left it hitched over here. Arthur discarded his cigarette and made his way over to the horse.  
“Hey girl... someone forgot about ya?” he stroked his hand over her mane as he spoke. Arthur was about to lead her to the stables when he noticed the rifle on her saddle, that gave him the idea that this could actually be the perfect time for him to sneak out for a few hours, he'd be armed and thus a lot safer out there. Just to be on the safe side he looked around one more time before he mounted her and rode off through the forest to avoid being spotted early by anyone on the ranch.

Within a minute of Arthur's departure Jesse knocked on Colm's door, he opened it as soon as he heard the okay and simply nodded at Colm.

Colm had a lopsided grin on his face, Arthur took the bait. “You know what to do,” he said to Jesse.

Jesse closed the door and motioned for Owen to follow him, the men each went to their respective horses and took their time before they rode off after Arthur.

Arthur slowed his horse down when he arrived at a crossroad. He really wanted to visit Mr. Mason for more some answers but he knew that would be almost half a days riding away, it was already noon and he had to be back before the evening or Colm would have his head. The small cabin where he encountered the unfortunate woman was only about an hour long ride from here so decided to check that out today, he hoped he could still find some tracks which would lead him to a camp of Van der Linde's.

Arthur's guess had been correct when he arrived at the narrow path leading up to the cabin within the hour, he rode up towards the cabin and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a crack as loud as thunder, only it wasn't thunder, it had been the sound of a rifle. Arthur struggled to hold on to his horse as she startled and started to buck him, another shot rang out and Arthur couldn't hold on any longer, he hit the ground hard and had to quickly roll out of the way so she wouldn't trample him. He scrambled to get up but he knew it was too late when he felt a cold barrel press against the back of his head.

“I got him!” exclaimed the man who held Arthur at gunpoint.

Arthur could see another man wielding a rifle had appeared from the thick forest.

“Hello sunshine” said the rifle wielding man before he smacked the butt of his rifle against the back of Arthur's head.

~~~

Arthur woke up with a splitting headache and groaned loudly. His shoulders were killing him as he found himself to be suspended from his arms, ropes painfully dug into his wrists. He struggled to stand up straight as his legs had also been bound together. Arthur tilted his head backwards and could see the rope had been thrown over a beam at the roof of the cabin. There were three men in the room with him and he couldn't recognize any of them.

“Good to see you awake, O'Driscoll.” One of the men had walked over as soon as Arthur had started to stir.

“You been waitin' here for me this whole time? 'm flattered.” Arthur's voice was hoarse.

The man laughed at Arthur's sarcasm “ 'Course, old Dutch wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to get his hands on you again.”

Arthur's eyes narrowed “Yous Van der Linde's” he spat in the man's face.

“You O'Driscoll piece of shit!” The man shouted and sank his fist into Arthur's stomach before he even bothered to wipe the spittle from his face.

Arthur would have doubled over in pain if he could, an unexpected blow to the stomach had hurt, he lost his footing as he felt the wind had been knocked out of him and cried out in pain when his full weight was being supported by his wrists only.

Whilst Arthur was still coughing the door to the cabin flew open as a result from a powerful kick and three deafening shots rang out.

“Morgan!” Owen stepped over a dead body and pulled his knife out to cut Arthur free.

Arthur was relieved when he saw Jesse and Owen. “Hello boys,” he coughed a few more times.

Jesse was checking the three bodies to make sure they were all dead as per Colm's orders. The three men had been told to put on a good show and pretend to be Van der Linde's, but they obviously had no idea that Colm intended to have them killed.

Arthur hissed as he rubbed his sore wrists “Shit....thanks fellers,” he sighed at his own stupidity and rode back to the ranch with them in silence. He felt utterly embarrassed for not heeding Colm's continuous warnings about the presence of the Van der Linde's around this area.

After they handed their horses over to the stable boys Arthur asked Jesse and Owen to come over. “Hey ehh.. fellers, if you can keep this between us three here I'll get ya boys a bottle or two of shine, sound okay?” Arthur cleared his throat.

Jesse and Owen shrugged at each other and then nodded their heads at Arthur.

Arthur thanked them again and went off to get a stiff drink of his own, possibly two.

~~~

When the evening approached Arthur had been fumbling around in the kitchen, he was relieved when Noah kindly offered to help him prepare a suitable meal for Colm.

Once the meal was ready Arthur went up to Colm's door and knocked, he waited for the go ahead to enter and set down the plate of food in front of Colm. Not caring for Colm's approval or otherwise in this instance he immediately turned to leave again.

“Stay” Colm ordered.

Arthur's shoulders sagged, he wasn't in the mood for another speech, he just wanted to go outside and have a smoke, with reluctance he turned around again to face Colm.

Colm remained seated as he inspected the food on his plate by poking at it with his fork “I've taken your request under consideration.”

Arthur's brows shot up in surprise.

Colm scratched his chin. “Here's the thing Arthur, 'lot of things in this world here cost money. This house we's in, the food you eat, the clothes you be wearin', they all cost money. Now we get all that money through business, 'n taking loans from folk, be they poor or rich, is just that, business.”

“But...” Arthur tried to interject.

Colm held up a finger to him, he wasn't done.  
“You be wanting me to close down a part of my business, lose out on a lot of money, well then you'll have to pay the price to make up for it.” Colm grinned.

“Fine, I'll sleep outside, I'll fix ma own food.” Arthur hadn't hesitated, he was more than willing to give up all of his luxuries if it would save some poor old fool from being beaten to near death for a few dollars.

Colm shook his head “Not the price I had in mind,” the grin on his face broadened. 

Arthur's lips partially opened and his brows furrowed.

“Your body Arthur, you are the price.” Colm stood up and took a few slow steps towards Arthur.

Arthur was dumbfounded, he knew Colm had shown a certain degree of interest for him back when he first woke up, but he never thought the man would force him in to a corner like this just to get what he wanted.

Is he willing to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of some strangers he'd never meet? Although it seemed like he had met that Mason feller so technically he weren't a stranger, how many others like him who knew him were out there, being victimized by Colm's illicit business, Arthur wondered, he briefly closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine.”

Colm held his hands behind his back as he spoke.“You'll also be following some new rules from now on.”

“Rules?” Arthur huffed.

Colm lifted his chin ever so slightly as he spoke “From now on, whenever yer in this room you'll be addressin' me as sir, in here you'll be doin' everything I say, exactly as I says it without any comments, you'll be lettin' me do to you as I please, and... if we's alone in the room you'll be naked at all times.”

Arthur let out a cough. “Excuse me!?”

“Is that a no, Arthur? If so I'll be lettin' the boys know they can continue as they was.”

Arthur's jaw was clenched and he'd been grinding his teeth together. Colm wanted to humiliate him with all these ridiculous things, but he had no choice, he hadn't expected Colm to give up on the money that was being brought in, now it seemed the opposite was true just to be able to have him, how deep must his desire lie then? Arthur couldn't understand, he wasn't sure if he wanted to either.

Arthur sighed “I'll do whatever you want, Co-” He stopped himself and clenched his fists. “...sir” he spat out the last word.

Colm grinned, he loved how venomous Arthur sounded, this was perfect and his increasing arousal had agreed.

“Remove your clothes for me, boy, slowly” Colm sat back down and proceeded to eat as he watched Arthur.

Boy... Arthur thought, how god damned humiliating. He started undressing himself, slowly as per Colm's demand, but not too slowly, fuck him.

Colm's eyes ate up every inch of Arthur's naked form, he continued to do so until he was about halfway done with his food. “Get on your knees next to the bed and face the door.” Colm ordered.

Begrudgingly Arthur complied.

Colm was smiling, he purposely ate slower. Not just to further annoy Arthur but also because it became increasingly harder for him to eat whilst his cock was throbbing and his mind was very distracted with all the things he wanted and could do to Arthur right now. This would be well worth the sacrifice of a few hundred dollars a week.

Arthur shifted around on his knees, the wooden floor was far from comfortable in this position and with Colm having his back turned to him it had felt even more humiliating than he thought. He couldn't wait for this to be over and now the bastard was taking his time with his food as well, Arthur groaned.

After he finished his meal some time later Colm had heard Arthur's quiet grunts of discomfort increase in frequency, which had been music to his ears. He got up, hadn't looked at Arthur at all and opened the door. “Boy, come clean up! Colm shouted towards the kitchen area, he then returned to sit in his chair and crossed his legs with a small grin on his face.

Arthur's mouth was agape and his eyes had widened, he couldn't believe Colm had done what he just did, at first Arthur thought it was just another way to humiliate him, but then he wondered if Colm somehow knew about Noah and himself.

Noah entered the room shortly after Colm had summoned him, he froze in the doorway when he laid eyes on Arthur who was sitting on his heels, naked. Noah gulped.

Arthur lowered his gaze to the floor and squeezed his eyes shut, he wished he could stop existing right now and silently cursed Colm.

Colm cleared his throat at Noah, the grin on his face had only widened since Noah had stood still in the doorway.

Noah blinked a few times and hurried over to Colm's table to gather his empty plate and cutlery, before he had a chance to lift anything up Colm had made a stop motion with his hand.

“You like him, don't ya, boy?” Colm hadn't moved, only his eyes had went up to meet Noah's.

Noah let out a small cough in attempt to buy a few seconds before answering “E-excuse me?”

Arthur's eyes shot open at the question and they now darted between Colm and Noah with his mouth still agape.

“You know I don't like repeatin' myself” Colm started tapping his fingers on the table, he did it slowly and very rhythmically.

Noah tried to consider his options here but ultimately he knew that if he was caught with a lie, the consequences would be very severe. “I do, s-sir.”

“How much do ya like him?” Colm asked.

Noah briefly glanced over at Arthur before he lowered his gaze downwards again, he swallowed deeply “I... w-with all m-my heart, s-sir.” Noah knew that Colm needed him around, he'd been getting better at practicing medicine and as such was very useful to have around in a gang like this, he hoped that being completely truthful with Colm would prevent him for harming Arthur.

Arthur's heart was pounding in his throat and he felt dizzy when he heard Noah say those words.  
Why? Don't get yourself killed for a worthless fool like myself, Arthur's thoughts filled him with dread.

Colm stood up, dragged his chair with him to the center of the room and turned it around until it was facing Arthur, he positioned himself behind the chair and patted the backrest with both his hands before he let them rest on it. “Sit” Colm was facing Arthur, but after he spoke his eyes side glanced over towards Noah.

Noah blinked rapidly, he could feel a tight knot in his stomach as he slowly walked over to the chair and sat down with his hands in his lap. He stared directly at Arthur and could see the man's chest was now rapidly rising and falling. He prayed that Arthur wouldn't do anything foolish.

Colm rested his hands on each of Noah's shoulders, he did this whilst he was looking at Arthur, right now he could read the man's body language like an open book and he really liked what he was reading.

Colm leaned in closer until his lips were almost touching Noah's ear, his voice low and threatening as he whispered “If ya ever touch what's mine again without my permission first, I'll make sure there won't be nothin' left of him for you to touch.” Colm knew he had no plans to kill Arthur, but he was very aware that the boy possessed no such knowledge.

Arthur furrowed his brows, he couldn't hear what Colm was saying but he could tell from Naoh's fearful expression and the beads of sweat on his forehead that it wasn't anything nice. Arthur was fighting really hard to not jump up and smash Colm's head into the nearest wall, and if Colm was about to hurt Noah he knew that's exactly what he'd be doing.

Colm gave Noah's shoulders a good squeeze before he released his grip on the young man and walked over towards Arthur until he was behind him.

Arthur could hear Colm as he rummaged around through a dresser, but his eyes were focused on Noah. “Are you okay?” he mouthed silently.

Noah answered Arthur's soundless question with a single, barely noticeable nod.

Arthur wanted to return his gesture with a comforting smile but before he could do so Colm had quickly and efficiently wrapped a leather belt around his neck, he tightened it to a point where it was hard for Arthur to swallow. A choked gurgle left his throat and his eyes grew wider, instinctively he reached up for the belt in an attempt to loosen it but a disapproving “ah ah” from Colm stopped him in his tracks.

“Sit up straight” Colm ordered as he jerked the belt towards him, which brought out another strangled grunt from the kneeling man. Arthur had straightened himself until his full weight was on his knees again.

Colm loosened the belt a bit as soon as Arthur had complied, the man instantly coughed a few times and took several deep breaths.

Noah couldn't bare watching this, he turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Eyes forward, boy.” Colm wrapped the belt around his hand, which caused it to tighten around Arthur's neck once more. Arthur's strangled noise instantly made Noah do as he was told and Arthur was allowed to breathe freely again.

“Up” Colm gave the belt a small tug.

Arthur groaned as he slowly rose to his feet, his knees were screaming at him from having been in that position for so long. He continued to remind himself to not lash out in any way out of fear for the consequences. A shiver ran down his spine as soon as he felt Colm's tongue stroke his neck right above the belt, when he started to suck on his skin Arthur knew what he was doing.  
Colm was showing dominance by ensuring he left marks on his body. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself being anywhere but here. He could have handled Colm doing all this to him if Noah hadn't been here, but he was, and Colm had forced him to watch every single thing he'd be doing.

Colm left a few marks on Arthur's neck and proceeded to trace his tongue over towards Arthur's shoulder, he gave it the same treatment as he had with Arthur's neck. His cock had been throbbing in his pants so painfully that he had resist to unload it on Arthur with everything he had. The message he was sending out had to be short but clear, right now, doing anything more extreme than this would make it harder to control Arthur, not easier.

When Colm was satisfied with the amount of red marks he left on Arthur's skin he tugged the belt downwards again. “Kneel.”

Colm's eyes were fixed on the markings he left, when Arthur was down on his knees again Colm made eye contact with Noah. Just to drive the message home the corner of his mouth formed in to a devious grin. “Clean the table and get out.” Colm released his grip on the belt but left it around Arthur's neck.

Noah's brows raised ever so slightly, he feared Colm would do far worse things, just in case he might do so if he hadn't moved as fast as Colm wanted, Noah shot up from his chair and quickly gathered the plate and cutlery from the table before he hurried out the door and closed it behind him. He was shaking and almost dropped everything in his hands on his way to the kitchen. He felt so sorry for Arthur, he couldn't help but blame himself, he knew how possessive Colm could get and he'd been too careless with Arthur. With Colm's whispered words still fresh in his mind he promised himself that he'd stay away from Arthur, as much as that would break his own heart, he knew it would keep Arthur's safe from a knife in his.

Colm sat down in the chair Noah had just occupied, as he crossed his legs he pensively rubbed his short beard. He wondered how he'd proceed from here, his goal was to keep Arthur compliant without too much defiance, this would surely have the man fuming.  
“Is there anythin' you want to get of your chest?” Colm's voice wasn't as stern as it had been when Noah was in the room.

Arthur lifted his head, his eyes were filled with confusion, Colm had a habit of catching him off guard with everything he did and said, this was no exception. Would love to knock your teeth out, Arthur thought, he slowly turned his head left and right a few times in response to Colm's question.

“Hm, do you understand why I just did what I did?” Colm stopped rubbing his beard and casually rested his elbow on the armrest. “I'll be needin' words this time, Arthur.”

Arthur dropped his gaze to the floor and muttered “Because you're a possessive bastard.”

Colm narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair, it creaked as his weight shifted. “Remember why you is here and the rules which came with it.”

Arthur grimaced at his sharp tongue, Colm was right, he made a deal and had to stick to it. Arthur cleared his sore throat, he could still feel the belt around his neck as a reminder of the position he was in. “It was a message of ownership, sir.”

Colm acknowledged Arthur's words with a hum,“and where do you belong in this message?”

Arthur frowned, his eyes darted around across the floor as he tried to understand what Colm had asked “To....you, sir?” he wasn't sure if that's what Colm wanted to hear. He didn't want to look up when he heard Colm stand and walk behind him, instead he dug his fingers in to his thighs as he feared he was about to be strangled again. When Arthur felt the belt around his neck being removed he raised his head in surprise.

“This was a lesson for both of ya. The boy learned that I own everything 'round here and that he needs my approval before he touches anything which is mine, and you learned to keep that temper of yours under control. You did good Arthur, be proud. Now get dressed, I've got some business to attend to.” Colm walked around Arthur and returned the chair to it's respective table.

Arthur started to get dressed, he'd never felt so overwhelmed with mixed feelings. He'd been so angry, he wanted to knock some teeth out of Colm only moments ago, but his words just now, they were almost encouraging, he said he was proud that Arthur showed some self control which for a moment made him feel good about himself. But he hated how he used Noah to prove a point, even thinking back to it made him want to hurt Colm again. He figured he'd best leave as fast as possible before he lost control of himself, as soon as he was fully dressed he hurried out the door.

Arthur knew he had to pass the kitchen area and he feared Noah would be there, he didn't think he could bare having to face the young man right now.

When Arthur came in to his view Noah was relieved, he had been worried that Colm would be doing far worse to him after he was told to leave, but in this short amount of time that wouldn't have been possible. When Arthur simply walked past him without even casting a glance in his direction Noah's heart sank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this was a longer one, over twice the size of my usual chapters I think, that's why it took so long to get posted, sorry :(  
> Hope it was somewhat decent, I tried my best to get the dynamics right
> 
> As always thank you all for reading and an extra thanks for all the comments some of you have been leaving!


	12. Chapter 12

~~~ Present Day ~~~

Dutch felt as if a hand had clawed it's way into his chest and ripped his beating heart out.

“Arthur” Dutch's voice cracked as he found himself suspended in disbelief, the most loyal of his men, his son, now stood at the side of his arch enemy. The hatred which he saw in those blue eyes went beyond his understanding, it felt as if it were impossible for such anger to be directed at him, and yet the beating he'd received from Arthur made it clear that it was.

Dutch's mind was racing, he couldn't understand what he'd done to Arthur, was he angry that they hadn't found him? Or had Colm done some unspeakable things to his son and forced him in to this, surely Arthur would have rather died as opposed to betraying him? His thoughts came to an abrupt stop when another one of Arthur's brutal punches had connected with Dutch's temple and made him groan in response. He never knew how hard Arthur could actually hit, he never thought he'd ever find out either.

Colm would gladly stay here and allow Arthur to continue his onslaught, but he knew they were short on time if they remained here.“That's enough for now, we're taking him somewhere out of sight before the others come looking” Colm's eyes drilled into the back of Arthur's skull, he stepped forward when it became evident that Arthur wasn't about to stop his assault on Dutch. 

“Arthur!” Colm's raised voice was still ignored by Arthur, who's fist once more collided with the side of Dutch's head.

Dutch was already unsteady on his knees, he lacked the necessary balance with his hands bound behind him, which is why the sheer force of the blow had caused him to topple over and land on his side with a loud groan.

Colm let out a frustrated sigh, he waved his hand at Jesse and Owen and then motioned towards Arthur.

Arthur drew his leg back and was about to slam his steel tipped boot into Dutch's gut when his arms were grabbed and wrenched behind him.  
“Let me go, I ain't done with him yet!” Arthur screamed the words out. Both men struggled to drag him away from Dutch, the man was insanely strong whilst enraged.

Colm positioned himself between Arthur and Dutch, it broke his line of sight with the prone man and Arthur had no choice but to direct his attention towards Colm now.

“Arthur” Colm's voice was stern “We”ll take old Dutch here to a safer location where you can have your way with him, out here we run the risk that the rest of his gang will find us within the hour. Keep yer temper in check for now and mount up.” As he took another step towards Arthur, Colm had lowered his head ever so slightly, but maintained his eye contact with him “That weren't a request” Colm threatened.

Arthur huffed and jerked his arms free from the grasp of the other two, his breath was labored as he squared up to Colm. “Step aside, Colm, I said I ain't done yet” Arthur clenched his jaw, his words came out slow and dangerous.

Colm could see the pulsing of the veins in Arthur's neck, but he wouldn't budge, instead he rested his right hand on the grip of his revolver. In the corner of his eye he could Jesse and Owen had done the same thing. Colm had never seen Arthur this angry, he'd have to thread very carefully right now as the man became unpredictable in this state. He was silent for a few seconds as he tried to think of something suitable to get Arthur back under his thumb. He had an idea.  
“Are you forgetting who's paying for the doctor?” Colm raised his brows at Arthur.

As soon as those words were spoken the fire in Arthur's eyes had died out and was replaced with a look of pure sorrow. Arthur's facial muscles tensed as his eyes watered up, he held Colm's stare for a few moments until he finally turned on his heels to get to his horse and shoved his way past the two men who were standing in his way.

Colm parted his lips and exhaled the breath he'd been holding. His gamble had paid off.

Outside of Arthur, Jesse and Owen, Colm had brought another six additional men with him. He hadn't been sure how many of Dutch's people he had to deal with and was pleasantly surprised when they saw Dutch ride off on his own.  
“Mount up, we're leaving” Colm ordered.

As the rest of his men went to their horses, Colm had pointed out Dutch to Jesse and Owen, the men nodded in response to Colm's gesture.

Dutch was still in the same prone position, his ears were ringing and his head still spun from the severe blows Arthur had dealt him, he'd missed the stand-off between Arthur and Colm only moments ago, because of it.

Jesse and Owen came over and lifted Dutch up by his bound arms, they dragged him forward and tossed him on the back of Colm's horse as he cursed at them.

Colm glanced around one last time to ensure all his men were ready before they all rode towards the cabin in the north-west.

~~~

Colm had been silent as they rode, the act of defiance when Arthur had squared up to him had felt infuriating. He reminded himself that he'd have to punish Arthur for that later. 

A noise from the man on the back of his horse made Colm turn his head so he could glance behind him. “You look rather worse for wear there, Dutch” Colm patted the back of Dutch's leg to taunt the man.

Earlier on Colm had noticed Dutch looked stressed and exhausted, no doubt things would have been very unpleasant in their camp with Arthur's prolonged absence, Colm's lips curled up at the thought of that.

“I am not going to have a conversation with you from this position, Colm.” Dutch's expression was one of disdain.

“Suit yourself” Colm snorted.

Arthur had been riding closely behind Colm and couldn't stop staring at Dutch, he wanted nothing more than to drag the bastard off that horse and pummel him into the ground until he begged for mercy. He knew Colm would berate him later for his actions from earlier but he hadn't cared, right now his only mission was to ensure that Van der Linde died a slow and painful death.

Arthur's mind drifted back to approximately three weeks ago. He recalled the day during which he woke up and found himself to be surprised at the lack of breakfast in his room. His relationship with Noah had become a bit awkward after Colm's peculiar -lesson-, but within days they had found each other again.  
Arthur and Noah agreed to abstain from any intimate contact but they had still spent a lot of time together to talk or just keep each other company, luckily it hadn't seemed like Colm found this to be problematic.  
Noah brought him breakfast every morning as it was part of his daily chores. Arthur had wondered why it had been different on this day and set out on his quest to find his friend, he combed through the entire ranch twice before he finally decided to inquire Colm about Noah's apparent disappearance.

“Arthur!”

At the sounding of his name Arthur's mind snapped back to reality. It was Colm who now rode next to him and he seemed agitated at Arthur's slow response. “Hm?” he turned his head towards Colm.

“Take two of the boys to cover our tracks from any potential pursuers, we'll be headin' to the cabin at Moonstone Pond, meet us there when you're done.” Colm's order was clear, he saw hesitation in Arthur's body language and raised his left brow.

Arthur wanted to protest, he wanted to spend every second he had from here on out to torture Van der Linde, but Colm's message was clear and Arthur knew that Colm could easily deny him that which he craved so much, so far he'd already pushed his luck a lot.  
“Fine” Arthur grumbled and turned his horse around, he took the tether which was attached to Dutch's horse from Owen and motioned at two men to follow him.

On the back of Colm's horse Dutch struggled to keep himself composed, he desperately wanted to know what Colm had done to Arthur, but at the same time he refused to lose his dignity and address the man whilst he was hogtied on the back of his horse, at least it gave him time to find a way out of this, for himself and Arthur.

Colm had been grinning as he could hear Dutch grunt from discomfort on the back of his horse. He had deliberately sent Arthur on his little mission so he'd have at least a few moments alone with his old rival.

Everything had gone exactly as he planned, he'd ordered one of his older recruits to spend every evening in the Valentine saloon and wait around for one of Dutch's men to show up, when they did the recruits job had been to act as drunk as they could and seemingly on accident reveal the location of one of his larger outposts up in the Grizzlies. It had worked like a charm as Matthews had taken the bait, Colm loved how reckless the Van der Linde's had gotten in their time of desperation.

Colm knew he could never have predicted that Arthur Morgan of all people would have been the catalyst which would lead to ultimate destruction of the Van der Linde gang, definitely not an Arthur Morgan who'd more than happily be said catalyst at this point in time.

They still had a bit of a ride ahead of them and Colm's mind had drifted to the events from three weeks ago. Arthur came to him and had questioned him about the boy's disappearance. Colm then informed him that he had sent the boy to one of their outposts in the Grizzlies, one of his better men had been mauled by a few wolves and he needed the boy there to try and keep him alive, it would only be for a few days, Colm assured Arthur, who seemed to have believed his story.  
Colm could tell that Arthur had not been happy about Noah's sudden departure and kept pestering him several times a day for the next few days to be allowed to go up there and check on him.  
Once more Arthur's caring and compassionate nature allowed him to be used exactly as Colm had wanted.

Colm snapped out of his reminiscing when they approached their temporary accommodation, a small cabin surrounded by huge pine trees in relative proximity of a small pond, a few of his boys had dispatched of it's owners only a week or two ago after they were unable to return a loan. Colm smirked to himself when he remembered Arthur being naive enough to believe that he'd give up on any form of income.  
“Hitch up boys, I want all of you on guard duty outside.” Colm told the six remaining men.

Colm made his way in to the three room cabin, the main living area was big enough to hold a large pinewood table with four chairs on each side. He pushed the door the small bedroom open with his foot and inspected the room, the two person bed had still been in a good state, the only real signs of abandonment in this room were the dead flowers on the windowsill and the cobwebs.

On his way to the last room Colm traced a finger across the dusty kitchen counter and wiped it clean on his pants. He pushed the door open and found himself inside a small pantry which was still moderately stocked, Colm picked up a bottle of bourbon from a nearby shelf and opened it with his teeth, he could take a large swig from it on his way back to the living area.

As if on queue Jesse and Owen entered the building as they carried a very fidgety Dutch in between them. The men roughly forced him down on a chair which they dragged away from the table towards the only barren wall, they had re-tied his hands in front of him and looped another rope around his middle and shoulders to keep him pinned to the chair, his legs were tied separately to each of the chairs legs so he couldn't kick out at anyone. As soon as the men backed up Dutch had straightened his posture to the best of his ability and kept his chin up high.

Colm dragged his own chair over towards Dutch, the backrest had been facing towards Dutch so Colm had to spread his legs when he sat down, he crossed his arms on top of the backrest and let out a loud sigh of relief as his eyes were locked on Dutch's.

Dutch's eyes were narrowed, every word he uttered was followed by a brief pause before the next one followed. “What did you do to him?”

The left corner of Colm's mouth slowly moved upwards as a devious grin formed on his face “Same thing as you Dutch, I took care of him when he were lost, fed him, guided him, bent him to my will”.

“I did no such thing” Dutch retorted. “I...care about him, you don't know the damnedest bit about caring for anyone but yourself.”

Colm snorted “And look where that got each of us. My gang is stronger than ever, business is good while everyone and their mothers fears me. Yours on the other hand is a dysfunctional family of degenerates who've been played like a fiddle for weeks now by none other than yours truly” Colm spread his arms to indicate he was referring to himself.

Dutch closed his eyes and clenched his fists, his head had lowered ever so slightly as he listened to Colm's speech. There had been some truth in his words, his people had been slowly decaying away in the last few weeks, Arthur had been an important link in the chain which kept them all together, and now that link was missing.

Dutch opened his eyes again and kept them fixed on Colm's. “You may have all that but you'll never understand true loyalty, which is something I'll always have over you. I don't know what you did to Arthur but there is no doubt in my mind that something happened, Arthur would never stand with you or against me on his own accord”.

“Loyalty...” Colm chuckled and so did Jesse and Owen from their respective corners of the room. “How do you think I managed to grab good old Arthur in the first place Dutch? Did ya think I was granted a vision by The Lord above?”

Dutch's eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown, he wondered where Colm was going with this.

“You can always tell which men are easy to break, barely had to lay a hand on him, but the moment his end was in sight he squealed like a woman, and he was oooh so willing to betray you, is that the kind of loyalty you so proudly speak of?” Colm cocked his head at Dutch with raised brows.

Dutch's mouth was agape, he made the connections in his mind, Hosea's warnings and pleading, the hostility from the others towards this man, their rage when he had granted him Arthur's tent.  
“Micah” the name had left Dutch's mouth not with venom but with a tone of utter disappointment, at himself, at his blindness, his lack of faith in his oldest friend. He'd done nothing but demand an endless supply of faith from his men but in return he had given them none of his own when they needed it the most, and now his actions were about to have severe consequences for all of them. Dutch's shoulders had sagged.

~~~

Arthur was on his way to the cabin Colm had pointed out with the two men in tow. They did their best to cover some of their tracks and left Dutch's horse behind in a different direction.

Arthur wasn't able to concentrate very well on the road ahead as his mind kept wandering back to the moment he stormed into Colm's room two weeks ago, he knew the rules but he hadn't cared, Noah hadn't returned on the day he was supposed to and Arthur had stood up to Colm by saying he'd be going after him today no matter what. To his surprise Colm had agreed to join Arthur, it was a long ride from the ranch to their outpost in the grizzlies but the four men had made good time.

The cold had been miserable but Arthur kept urging them to push through, when they arrived he could immediately feel the bile rise up in his throat as he stepped over dead body after dead body, most of them had sunken deep in the snow so he could tell they'd been dead for several days. He'd started to frantically inspect every single body and already feared the worst.

When he was convinced he checked every body and every building he could feel a glimmer of hope, that hope was immediately crushed when he entered the cellar of last remaining small cabin where he saw the form of a young man on his knees with his head lolled forwards, his arms were spread above his head and had been tied off separately to the supports which he sat in between.

Arthur swallowed deeply, he couldn't see his face from here but he knew it was Noah, he called out to Colm and rushed over towards his bound friend, the dried blood on the ground indicated that he'd been severely beaten and probably cut up too. When Arthur gently lifted Noah's head he could see his face was blue behind all the bruises, in the cold Arthur should be able to see Noah's breath but there was nothing.

“No no no” Arthur repeated the same words over and over when he wrapped his arms around Noah and slowly rocked back and forth as he embraced him.  
Tears flowed freely from Arthur's eyes when he realized he lost the only person he ever remembered to care for. Since the day he woke up in that bed, Noah had been the only constant in his life, the only face which hadn't made him wonder if he should recognize it, he'd been his anchor in the sea of confusion he found himself to be adrift in.

Arthur's eyes had widened when he swore he heard the faintest of whimpers, he pulled back immediately and held Noah's head upright with both his hands. He gently nudged Noah's head whilst he called out his name. After a few seconds which felt like forever, Arthur could see a small puff of breath escape from the young man's mouth. Arthur breathed a huge a sigh of relief.  
“You're alive, Colm he's alive, help me!” Arthur exclaimed.  
“It's okay Noah, 'm here, it's Arthur, please hold on, I've got you, I'm taking you home” Arthur rapid fired the words out with a brittle voice.

Noah was in so much pain and cold, he was so unbelievably cold, he realized he couldn't feel any of his limbs. He'd been fading in and out of consciousness for some time now and every time he did he hoped it would be the last time he'd ever feel cold again. This time waking up had been different, there was a warm body pressed against his own and he thought he could hear a voice, Arthur's voice, he missed Arthur, he wished the man had been here to protect him, the thought made him whimper.

“Noah please, look at me.” Arthur begged.

Noah opened his eyes and after a few seconds of focusing could see Arthur, he hoped he was smiling but he couldn't be sure because he couldn't feel his face at all.

When Noah opened his eyes Arthur felt that glimmer of hope again “That's my boy,” he forced a smile out. Noah's mouth slowly opened and closed, Arthur wanted to tell him to save his breath but instinctively leaned in closer to hear what the young man was saying.

“W's 'Utch Va' der 'inde, d'd 'is, c'ld." Noah barely managed a whisper.

Arthur rubbed Noah's back and nodded, he heard him clearly and now he knew exactly who did this. “It's okay, sshhh I got ya,” he spoke as comforting as he could, a fire was raging inside of him but he kept it contained, for now. 

After Jesse and Owen cut Noah's bindings Arthur lifted him up in his arms and carried him outside post haste, he knew he had to hurry if the boy was to survive.

Arthur's unfocused eyes were on their return trip to reality, as they refocused he had a clear vision on the woodlands around him. The grip on his reins tightened and his eyes now screamed murder. Arthur kicked his horse in to a faster pace, he couldn't wait to get to that cabin, to Dutch Van der Linde.

~~~

Colm scooped another spoonful of food out of the can he grabbed from the pantry, he had moved his chair away from Dutch so he could rest his elbow on the table as he ate. He could see Dutch's brain was spinning in his head and it amused him. Everything had gone so perfectly for him, who knew that when he found the desperate, sad boy alone in his dead pa's house that he would play such an important role in this master plan. Noah Yates, Colm snorted as he recalled the moment they found him up in the Grizzlies.

Colm's arms were crossed as he had been watching Arthur's grief from the stairs of the cellar, a single nod directed at Arthur told Jesse and Owen to go help them out. Colm was surprised that the boy somehow survived for days, he guessed that being in the sealed cellar had probably been his saving grace. Colm doubted he'd be alive for long, judging by the state of him. Live or die it no longer mattered to Colm, he'd served his purpose, and after he'd seen Arthur's reaction, Colm knew that Dutch's fate had already been sealed. A crooked grin appeared on his face.

They all rode to the nearest doctor as fast as they could, Arthur had taken to keeping the boy as warm as he could, he had him seated in front of him on his horse so he could keep his arms around him. The boy had been barely clinging to life even a week later, his injuries had been so severe, some even septic, and the cold had only made things worse.

“Did he join you willingly?”

Colm shook his head as he escaped from his dreamy state, he realized it was Dutch who had spoken. “What was that?” Colm set his spoon and can down on the table next to him.

“Arthur... did he willingly join you?” Dutch repeated, he couldn't stop thinking about Micah's betrayal and now it had made him wonder if Arthur had done the same.

Colm smiled “Why don't ya ask him yourself?” he was going to avoid telling Dutch about Arthur's memory loss, this would be much more fun if he thought that the Arthur he knew had betrayed him.

“Don't be coy with me Colm, haven't you played enough games?” Dutch glared at him.

“Oh no, old friend, the real fun is only just about to start,” the smile on Colm's face widened.

Dutch's eyes narrowed even more as he maintained his eye contact with Colm “I'll personally see to it that your neck will have a noose around it soon enough, Colm”. Dutch accentuated every single one of the words which followed “mark my words”.

Colm's smile had vanished and been replaced with a scowl, Dutch was still far too smug to his liking.

“Here's what's going to happen, Dutch. In a lil' while your most loyal son is going to storm through that door and beat the ever living shit out of ya, and whilst you'll be feeling the agony of your failure in every single blow you take, I'll be sitting over here enjoying every last second of it, because I've won Dutch”. Colm's laughter sounded almost maniacal “I beat you old friend, it's over for the sons of Dutch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally made it back to the present day! Thank you for sticking with me and I'm sorry if the cliffhanger didn't turn out in a way you hoped it would. I played around with writing out flashbacks in plain text, hope it wasn't confusing to distinguish between a flashback and reality, I'm not sure of how poorly I did it.
> 
> As always thank you for reading and any form of criticism is always very welcome!


	13. Chapter 13

When Arthur finally made it to the cabin he threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him. He hadn't cast a single glance towards Colm or the other two, he only had eyes for the object of his hatred, Dutch Van der Linde.

Dutch swallowed deeply when Arthur stood in front of him, he could see Arthur's nostrils were flaring and that his chest had been rising and falling rapidly. “Arthur I-” he barely got the words out before Arthur's fist collided with his cheek.

“You shut the hell up!” Arthur spat, he unsheathed his knife and proceeded to cut the ropes around Dutch's legs and his middle, he wanted access to more of Dutch's body.

“S-son, please, why-” again Dutch's words were cut off when Arthur hit him in the jaw, Dutch could feel the man had knocked one of his teeth loose. 

Arthur grabbed him by his vest and dragged him to the ground, he knelt down next to him and dug his fingers in his hair which lifted his chin up from the floor. Arthur leaned in closer to Dutch's ear and spoke with a low volume “I ain't your son, you folk are sick... Van der Linde's, cowards is what you is”.

A slight frown had formed on Dutch's face, the way Arthur spoke about their gang was strange, as if he'd distanced himself from them, had he really disassociated himself this fast? After twenty years of caring for him it only took him a little over a month to pretend he was never a part of this family? Dutch's mind was racing but only until Arthur smacked his forehead against the wooden floor, then everything was just blurry for him.

Arthur rolled Dutch over until he was lying on his back, he cut the ropes around his wrists free whilst the man was still stunned and rolled him over again, he used the long rope which had previously pinned Dutch to the chair and tightly bound his wrists behind him. He made sure they really dug into his skin, like Dutch had done to Noah. “Did you enjoy hurtin' him?” Arthur stood with his head lowered, icy cold eyes stared down at Dutch”.

Dutch turned his head to the side, he had to strain his neck to look up at Arthur. “What?” He croaked.

“I was askin'” he slammed his foot against Dutch's side “if you” another kick against Dutch's ribs “enjoyed” and another “hurtin' him!” Arthur shouted those last words.

Dutch was in agony and he swore he heard a crack after that last kick had hit him “W-who?” he wheezed.

Arthur roughly rolled Dutch over and grabbed him by the collar to pull him in to a seated position.  
“The boy! The boy in The Grizzlies! The one yous left to die in a cellar, alone!”

Dutch's eyes widened, the left eye opened only halfway as the swelling on it had increased, it clicked for him. He did remember the boy, how could he not, he'd been so enraged by the weeks of searching for Arthur without result and that young man had been forced to take all of his anger, but why had Arthur befriended an O'Driscoll he wondered. “Arthur...I, I didn't know, he-”

Arthur wrapped his hands around Dutch's throat and forced him flat on his back as he knelt over him and started to crush his windpipe.

Colm had been enjoying his drink as he watched Dutch's torture, he waited and listened for a few seconds as Dutch's gurgled choking noises were like music to his ears, until he finally intervened. “That's enough Arthur, don't kill him, he'll be makin' us good money when we hand him in to the law”.

Arthur loosened his grip ever so slightly so Dutch could suck in some much needed air “I don't give a damn about money, I want him dead!” He exclaimed as he glared down at Dutch and squeezed harder again.

“You'll get to see him hang, that'll have to be good enough for ya. Don't be forgetting who got him here for you in the first place, Arthur” Colm had emphasized his name with a stern voice.

Arthur growled but released his grip on Dutch's throat.

Dutch's throat hurt, every time he coughed after Arthur had let go of him he could feel the stabbing pain in his chest, he was certain now that he'd broken a rib or two. When Arthur had given him a few seconds to breathe he heard him and Colm discuss if he was to live or die, having heard Arthur take part in such a discussion had broken something else inside him.

Arthur grabbed him by his vest and lifted him up to roughly throw him back into the chair he'd previously been bound to, had the chair not been so close to a wall he'd surely have toppled over from the force.

Being thrown around so briskly had sent another wave of agony through Dutch's body, he had never experienced pain like this, as his head lolled forwards blood was freely pooling out of his mouth.

“I ain't stoppin' even if you pass out on me, I doubt you stopped for the boy”. Arthur walked over to Colm and snatched the bottle of bourbon from him, he took a large gulp and set it down on the table. Arthur turned and took a few slow steps back towards Dutch as he cracked his neck and fingers. “Time fer round two” Arthur sneered.

~~~

There was a sudden outburst of gunfire from outside which startled everyone inside the cabin, the men exchanged a brief but worried glance at each other.

Dutch's lips curled up ever so slightly and he couldn't suppress a chuckle, regret had hit him immediately as his abused throat protested and he couldn't stop the violent coughing which followed, the combined pain had finally caused him to pass out again.

Owen had already made his way over the door but was knocked back when said door collided with him as it had been forced open by a powerful kick.

Charles hadn't wasted a second, his closest target was a staggered man at his feet, he swung his arm back and embedded his tomahawk deep into the man's chest.

Owen's eyes were wide from shock, he let out a strangled gasp before his body fell limp.

Charles hadn't waited to see if the O'Driscoll would die from his strike, he already knew he dealt the man a fatal blow, instead he had his sawed off shotgun ready to end the life of the next target which to his surprise was “...Arthur?” The confusion in his voice was evident.

Everything happened so fast Arthur hadn't had time to react accordingly, Owen was dead on the ground to his right and without looking he could hear that Jesse had forced Colm out through the pantry. This man, a Van der Linde, Arthur assumed, there was an odd familiarity to him but Arthur couldn't exactly pin down why that was, he assumed they must have been in a stand off before today. Arthur realized too late that his broken memory's attempt to fix itself could very well be leading to his immediate death as it finally registered that the big man had discarded his weapons and was now heading straight for him, his hand reached for the gun in his holster.

Charles was always a fighter first and a talker later. He'd been surprised to see Arthur standing unbound and seemingly unharmed in a room full of O'Driscoll's, Charles' eyes had darted between Dutch's slumped form and Arthur, he'd noticed Dutch's blood soaked clothes and Arthur's bruised and bloody fists. Whatever happened here, his mind had concluded that Arthur was not a friend right now, he'd deal with it later, right now he had to attempt to subdue the man without killing him, so he dashed forward to tackle Arthur.

Arthur cursed his slow reaction, he managed to unholster his pistol but before he could raise the gun and fire, the big man had hurled himself straight at him, both the heavy men crashed against the hardwood floor with a loud thud, Arthur had lost his grip on the pistol and it skid away along the floor. With his back against the ground and this mountain of a man on top of him, Arthur knew he was in trouble. He figured Jesse had taken Colm to safety and the occasional gunshot from outside meant a few of his men were probably still alive, but he was very aware of the reputation which followed the experienced killers that came with the Van der Linde name, and now he had to face them more or less on his own.

Arthur mustered up as much force as he could from his awkward position and punched Charles in the jaw, when it seemed that the blow had made the man grunt but otherwise left him unfazed, Arthur proceeded to unsheathe his knife and plunged it into the man's side.

Arthur's attack had paid off when Charles' left hand moved up to his side and gripped the knife in an attempt to dislodge it from his body. This gave Arthur another opening, he wasted no time and landed another hit against the same spot on Charles' jaw, this time the blow had made the man stagger and lose his balance, this allowed Arthur to crawl out from underneath him, he jumped up as fast as he could and smashed his knee against Charles' head, the man fell down in a heap.

Arthur stared at his unconscious form, he briefly wondered why the man hadn't shot him, he had the drop on him, especially with his own slow reaction. But the man had chosen to engage him up close instead. Arthur had a habit of spitting on any opponent he defeated in a brawl but he found this man's actions to be very honorable, so he spat on the ground next to him instead.

Arthur stepped over Charles and retrieved his pistol from the floor, he could no longer hear any gunshots from outside and figured the rest of the Van der Linde's would be storming in any second now, he doubted the rest of them would refrain from killing him on sight, unlike the man at his feet had done. Arthur raised his arm and aimed his pistol at Dutch, if he was to die right here at the hands of the Van der Linde's, at least he would take their leader with them. The man deserved to die for what he had done.

“Charles are you-” John froze in the doorway when he saw Charles on the floor and “....Arthur?” Arthur was here and his gun was aimed at Dutch, John made a split second decision and launched himself forward, as he crashed in to Arthur he heard his pistol go off at the same time, his heart sank but he had no time to check if the man had hit his target.

Arthur cursed, his latest assailant had knocked him off balance in the nick of time, as proven by the bullet hole in the wall above Dutch. This Van der Line wasn't as big as the previous one, he hadn't managed to drag them both to the ground but merely caused Arthur to stumble backwards a few steps. The Van der Linde was now sprawled face down across the ground at Arthur's feet, he aimed the barrel of his pistol at the back of the man's head.

John audibly gasped when he heard the cocking of a hammer above him, it had been by pure coincidence that Tilly and Mary-Beth stumbled across Dutch's horse, it had been grazing on it's own far away from any beaten path, everyone had been frantic about it when they returned to camp with The Count but no Dutch.  
Micah immediately volunteered to go ask around the nearest town if they'd seen anything. Charles, Javier and John opted to ride out and see if they could track where the horse had been.

John had been relieved that Hosea and Lenny were off on a job of their own, the news of a missing Dutch would have stressed the man out even further and John wasn't sure how more of that the old man could handle. Charles being the master tracker that he is had no problem with the O'Driscoll's poor attempt of erasing them. Now here they were to rescue Dutch, and John could never have imagined that he was about to be killed by his missing, presumed dead, big brother. Well shit, he thought.

Charles had also heard a hammer being cocked back and hadn't spent time on any sort of musing, instead he immediately sprung in to action. Charles bit back the pain from the knife which was still firmly lodged in his side, reached out, wrapped both his arms around Arthur's legs and pulled as hard as he could which caused the man to crash to the ground with a loud grunt.

Charles scurried over, wrapped an arm around Arthur's neck and hooked his own leg over Arthur's hip area to keep the man pinned down as he put all his efforts towards an attempt to choke him out.

Arthur cursed loudly but it came out strangled, lying on his side he was in a pretty bad position to defend himself, his left arm was pinned behind him between his own body and the big man who was strangling him, he could feel his legs were pinned down by another set of hands, no doubt the second Van der Linde he was about to shoot, his only option was to reach for the knife he hoped was still in the big man's side, but as soon as felt around for it the large man had grabbed hold of his wrist and kept it pinned to his side. Arthur was surprised at his raw strength. The edge of his vision started to get cloudy and he knew he was close to breathing his last breath. That bastard Dutch was still alive and he was about to die at his feet. Arthur's last thought before he blacked was how he'd failed Noah yet again.

“Shit... he's out Charles” John said when he saw and felt Arthur had gone limp.

Charles rolled on his back and clutched his side before he pulled the knife out with a loud hiss, he felt lucky that it hadn't gone in too deep or near any vital organs.  
“Damn, get some rope before he wakes up again”. Charles panted, out of breath from his efforts to subdue Arthur.

John nodded at him and hurried outside, on his way to retrieve his lasso he informed Javier of the events that had transpired inside.

Charles crawled up to see how Dutch was doing, the man hadn't been conscious, he'd been badly beaten but Charles couldn't see any lethal wounds on him, at least not on the outside.

John returned with a bundle of rope in his hands, Javier followed close behind him.

“Mierda, it really is him” Javier couldn't take his eyes off Arthur as he went over to help Charles with Dutch's bindings.

Arthur already started to stir again before John had even managed to loop a single rope around him, he had to act quickly and used the butt of his gun to give Arthur a smack on the back of his head.  
“Sorry brother” John grimaced at what he did but he had no choice. He decided he'd use a lot of rope on Arthur, after he saw the man ready to kill Dutch and himself he'd take no chances, he knew from personal experience how much stronger this man could get during his fits of rage.

Charles grabbed the tablecloth and ripped a long strip from it, he wrapped it around his middle to stop his wound from bleeding, there was no time to do more about now. Charles quietly groaned and retrieved his tomahawk from the dead O'Driscoll.

After John had Arthur all trussed up Charles took it upon himself to lift him up and carried him to their horses, John and Javier threw Dutch's arms over their respective shoulders and dragged him outside.

“You need to take him Javier, Taima can not hold Arthur and myself” Charles said as he tossed Arthur's unconscious body on top of Javier's horse, the effort stung his side and he hissed.

“You okay there, Charles?” John asked as him and Charles carefully lifted Dutch on top of his horse.

“Fine, I saw Colm, did he get away?” Charles groaned when he mounted his horse.

“Didn't even see him, so I guess he did” Javier replied.

“That slippery bastard” John got up on his own horse, they left the cabin and it's dead occupants behind them as they rode off together.

~~~

The men were still riding as the sun had disappeared behind the horizon.

John had been forced to hit Arthur a few more times as he'd gotten sick of all the obscenities he kept throwing at them. They had planned to make the long journey back to camp without stopping, but Dutch had been begging them more and more for a break as his abused body could no longer take the bouncing from the horse.

“Over here, I found a good spot to set up camp” Charles had ridden ahead of the others to see if he could find a small open spot which wasn't too close to the road, they'd been worried that Colm would come after them with more men. Charles had done his best to guide them through rivers and other places which made it harder to track them. 

John now understood why Arthur had always been so eager to go out hunting with Charles, the man was an expert at this. “Thanks Charles” they followed him over to the small clearing.

Javier got to work on a fire and setting up a tent for Dutch so he'd have some protection from the elements.

Charles and John had carefully lifted Dutch off the horse and lowered him down so he could lean against a large boulder.

“Dutch? Dutch are you with us” John sat down opposite of him and had to bend forward a bit so he could see Dutch's face, his chin had been resting on his chest.

“Ar-thur” Dutch's voice was barely a whisper, his whole body was covered in sweat, the pain from riding had been almost unbearable for his worn out body.

“Yeah we got him with us Dutch, you ehm...” John shifted, he wasn't very good with the whole comforting business. “You should probably get some rest, Javier is setting up a tent for ya”.

Charles lifted Arthur up and set him down so he'd be seated against a tree. He was positioned opposite Dutch with the now lit campfire in between them. Charles retrieved his own lasso and looped it several times around Arthur's waist and the tree he was leaning against.

“Give him something to drink” Charles held his canteen out to John and motioned at Dutch, the man complied and Dutch had gratefully accepted some liquids, his breathing had sounded very labored and he wheezed on occasion.

John grimaced “Shit... think Arthur did this to him?”

“Think so, his knuckles are chafed” Charles had sat down at the campfire so he could finally give his stab wound the care it needed”.

Javier joined them at the fire once he'd finished with preparing the tent. “If he's the one who hurt Dutch like that then he's a traitor”.

“Hey relax, we don't know that just yet” John interjected.

“What the hell else would you call this?” Javier questioned as he waved his hand towards Dutch.

“I don't know... just” John rubbed his face and let out an exasperated sigh “...I don't know, Javier”.

“We should let him rest in the tent, he does not look comfortable” Charles had already gotten up and made his way over to lift Dutch up.

John leaned over and ever so gently patted him on the side of his face which wasn't swollen “Hey, Dutch, we gotta move you okay?”

Dutch only groaned in response, John and Charles lifted him up which made Dutch's pained noises increase in volume, they half dragged him over to the tent and gently guided him down to rest on the bedroll.

Arthur heard their brief exchange but he had remained silent and as still as possible, with his hands bound behind him he was able to carefully pick at the knots and remain unnoticed. He wondered why the Hispanic man had called him a traitor, how could you betray someone you were never loyal to? He wondered.

“Do you think Dutch will kill him?” Javier broke the silence.

“Jesus, Javier, the hell is wrong with you?” There was agitation in John's voice, he hadn't liked how Javier kept implying that Arthur would betray them, admittedly this whole situation was messed up, he just couldn't figure out what he should be thinking about Arthur right now.

“Maybe Colm forced him in to it?” Charles had been poking the fire with a stick, he'd positioned himself so he could keep an eye on Arthur and Dutch's tent at the same time, unlike the others he hadn't sat himself down fully, he'd chosen to squat so he could react faster if needed.

“Like at gunpoint?” Javier asked.

“But he almost shot Dutch, and me!” John exclaimed “hell, he tried to gut Charles like he were a fish or something” he added.

“Guess we won't find out until we ask him” Javier stated.

“You can ask him right now, he's been listening for some time”. Charles turned his head to look at Arthur, Javier and John had followed suit, but their faces were riddled with surprise.

Arthur froze, he could tell by the voice that it was the big man who had just exposed him , Charles they called him, it seemed the man was very capable at more than just fighting. He made good progress on the knots at his wrists so far, but he knew he'd have to halt his progress for now.

Since he failed to deceive them, he figured he may as well speak up.  
“Was all of yous at the Grizzlies two weeks ago?” Arthur raised his head, his face expressed nothing but contempt for the men in front of him.

The men looked at each other before John took it upon himself to answer “Javier and I was, with Dutch 'n Bill, why? We looked everywhere we didn't find you there” John's brows furrowed.

“Okay, 's good to know” Arthur nodded at them, his icy cold stare remained hidden in the darkness of the night. He couldn't really see the man who just spoke, the fire had only been lighting up part of his face but he surmised that his name was John, it made more sense that the Hispanic man would be Javier.

“Colm was threatening you right? What'd he do? Did he have something on ya?” John had so many questions, they were both for Arthur and himself as he desperately tried to find a reason for his brothers apparent betrayal.

“I ain't got nothin' to say to you, Van der Linde” Arthur spat in John's direction.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You're one of us, Arthur” there was frustration in John's voice.

“One of you? A rapist? Torturing young boys?” Arthur snorted.

“Rapists?? You've lost it, Morgan!” John turned his head towards Javier “he's lost it!”

“You know that's against our code, Arthur. Why are you making excuses?” Something in the back of Javier's mind kept repeating the word _traitor _to him.__

__“Don't be giving me shit, I saw her, saw what yous did to her. She told me it was you bastards that done that to her” Arthur's squirming made the ropes around his middle strain as he pulled on them. He could feel his anger flare up at the thought of that poor innocent woman he'd found all those weeks ago._ _

__“Arthur, none of us would ever do something so despicable” Charles' voice was calm._ _

__Except for Micah, John thought._ _

__Arthur frowned when Charles had spoken. He felt so eager to trust the man and every word that left his mouth, but why? He wondered._ _

__“What about the Grizzlies, you gonna pretend that didn't happen neither? Did y'all feel good about yerselves? Torturing a young man 'n leaving him strung up so he could freeze 't death?” Arthur's efforts to pull against the ropes had increased, Noah hadn't deserved any of this, he was innocent, and yet he'd been the one to suffer so brutally in this gang war._ _

__Javier and John stared at each other, they were there and they both saw what Dutch had done._ _

__“He was an O'Driscoll, Arthur, we were looking for you. That's just how it goes sometimes, you know.” Javier shrugged at him._ _

__“That's just... how it goes sometimes?” Arthur screamed, the anger doubled his strength and the ropes he'd somewhat loosened around his wrists had snapped. Arthur picked up the only rock in his vicinity and threw it at Javier's head, this made Javier cry out in pain as it struck him against his temple and left him stunned._ _

__Arthur wasted no time and started scrambling upwards, he was still pinned against the tree but if he could wriggle enough he hoped he might get out. He couldn't care less that the other two would probably overpower him long before that, he had to try, Javier's words had made his blood boil._ _

__Charles was already at Arthur's side and grabbed hold of his left arm and pushed his shoulder back towards the ground, a few seconds later John had done the same to Arthur's right arm and shoulder._ _

__“I'll kill you all you bastards!” Arthur let out a guttural scream, his feet had started to make grooves in the dirt underneath them from his efforts to get up._ _

__“Javier?! You okay?” John's voice was strained, he was putting in a lot of effort to keep Arthur down._ _

__Javier groaned as he stumbled to a standing position “Hijo de puta that hurt, yeah I'm fine” he scurried over to the horses and returned with his lasso, which was their last bit of rope. He looped some of it around Arthur's left wrist, then around the back of the tree and finally another loop around Arthur's right wrist, he made sure his knots were done properly and out of reach._ _

__Charles and John were finally able to breathe a sigh of relief while Arthur had still been shouting any curse word he could think of at them._ _

__“I've had enough of this” John untied Arthur's green neckerchief and proceeded to pack his mouth with it, careful to not get his fingers bitten off in the process, he then tied his own bandana around the man's head to prevent him from spitting it out._ _

__“Can we get some rest now? We still got a bit of ride ahead of us” Javier poked the fresh wound on his temple, it wasn't bleeding much thanks to the rock not being all that large in size._ _

__“Hm, I'll take first watch” Charles took a seat on top of the boulder Dutch had previously been leaning against._ _

__Arthur's nostrils were flaring as his breath was still labored from the exertion, his arms were now wrenched behind him around the tree, he knew he'd have no chance to free himself now. He'd happily throw more insults their way but that ability had also been stripped away from him. All he could do now was watch them settle in for the night and plan his next move._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew this was a long one, I was having too much fun with the dialogue at the end. It felt like I could have kept it going for a lot longer, really had to force myself to stop. :3
> 
> Same old, same old here: Thank you so much for spending your time on reading this, would love to hear some more of your thoughts in the comments! <3


	14. Chapter 14

His eyes opened to first light, Arthur couldn't recall when he managed to fall asleep. His mouth felt dry as a desert because the wad of cloth packed inside it had soaked up all of his saliva. His arms on the other hand he could barely feel at all, he'd been tugging too much against his bindings which caused the ropes around his wrists to painfully tighten, this numbed his arms more and more as the hours had gone by. Arthur hoped Noah was recovering well, he should have been there at his side like Noah had been for him when he was hurt, instead he was now a prisoner because he'd been so hell bent on revenge. Arthur sighed.

Dutch had been lying awake, lost in his thoughts for about an hour. After some time he used what little energy he could gather to crawl out of the tent he was in, the morning air sent a brief shiver through his body as he stood there. His hand moved up towards his throat and lightly stroked it, it's soreness a stark reminder of Arthur's eagerness to squeeze every last breath out of him. He was surprised to find that his left eye hadn't swollen shut completely, his ribs were still sore but it no longer felt like he'd broken one or more of them, for which he felt grateful.

As Dutch emerged from his tent, Javier, whom had been seated on a boulder, no doubt on guard Dutch thought, shifted around and was about to stand up. Dutch could tell he wanted to offer him some assistance but a dismissive wave with his hand had indicated to the man that he'd manage on his own.

John and Charles were still sleeping, Dutch knew John was as he could hear his faint snoring. Charles he presumed was more than likely just resting his eyes, he knew the man to be very alert and didn't doubt he'd woken the man when he had not so gracefully emerged from his tent. A few careful steps later and Dutch sat down on a patch of grass with his back towards the pile of embers which had previously been a campfire. Oh Arthur, he thought as his eyes studied the seemingly sleeping man before him.

Arthur's ears perked up when he could hear unsteady footsteps and a faint wheezing, he raised his head and found himself almost face to face with Dutch. Arthur's immediate reaction had been to kick out towards the man, but he'd wisely positioned himself just out of reach from Arthur's legs. He cursed at the man but his words came out as nothing more than a few unintelligible grunts.

“Arthur” Dutch's voice was low and hoarse and he felt some mild discomfort whilst speaking “I understand I hurt... badly hurt a friend of yours, and for that I am deeply sorry” Dutch held his hand against his chest “all we've being doing for the last six weeks is search for you, son.”

Arthur growled something as his brows pulled together in a scowl, another attempt to pull himself free from the tree he was bound to made his wrists scream at him.

Dutch rolled his eyes as if he was watching a child’s tantrum “Do try to control your temper and just listen, Arthur.”

Arthur raised one brow when Dutch sounded exactly like Colm.

“Listen, son” Dutch quickly raised his hands at him to indicate that he'd correct himself, “Arthur,” he cleared his throat. “That business with the boy, I will admit it was bad, but what choice did I have? There are a lot of people who are counting on me to do what needs to be done, and right now that's getting you back home safely, I expect you of all people to understand that.”

Arthur couldn't understand what kind of fool the man was taking him for and his facial expression had been reflecting his thoughts.  
“Mhhffpphh” Right. He forgot again, annoyance with his inability to communicate made him roll his eyes and tap the back of his head against the tree a few times.

Dutch understood the source of Arthur's frustration, he leaned forward but stopped himself rather quickly. Dutch locked his eyes with Arthur's and pointed at the man's legs, he then held up that same finger towards Arthur.

No kicking was the message, Arthur nodded his head at him.

Dutch leaned in fully this time and reached behind Arthur's head to untie the gag. “I want you to stay calm and talk to me Arthur, no outbursts and no death threats, else this thing goes right back in until you're able to manage something as simple as a conversation. Do I make myself clear?” His voice had been stern.

For a split second Arthur had wondered if Dutch and Colm were somehow related, he continued to be baffled by how similar they both seemed to talk to him. Dutch had been waiting to untie his gag so Arthur gave him a set of affirming grunts to indicate he'd do as requested, anything to get this crap out of his mouth, he thought.

Dutch untied John's bandana but left the soaked cloth ball for Arthur to deal with, after the beating from yesterday there was no way in hell he'd stick his fingers in Arthur's mouth. While Arthur was busy with his attempts to push the cloth out with his tongue, Dutch had sat back again and watched him, if things weren't as grim as they were now, he'd been fairly amused by the man's facial expressions as he struggled to free up his mouth.

After several frustration filled attempts Arthur finally managed to spit the damned thing out, he smacked his lips several times and worked his jaw before any attempts at speech would be made.  
“Y-you” Arthur tried to speak but his voice was too hoarse, he paused to wait for some saliva to swallow down “You talk as if I should be feelin' compassionate towards ya” he felt so parched but refused to ask them for anything.

“I talk as a father who is attempting to explain to his long lost son that he did everything he had to in order to find the aforementioned son” lines formed between Dutch's brows as his frown deepened.

“Will you stop that?! I ain't yer god damned son no matter how many times you keep sayin' it.” Arthur snarled.

Dutch tilted his head with his mouth agape, the shock in his expression abruptly changed as he pressed his lips together, leaned forward and glowered at Arthur. He hadn't felt anger when Arthur said it a few times during his tantrums, but this time they had agreed to be civilized, this time it was unacceptable. His voice was guttural, low in volume and he paused between every word “How dare you speak to me like that”.

A sense of uneasiness crept over Arthur, he wanted to tell Dutch that he didn't give a damn about his threats, but at the same time he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd somehow overstepped his boundaries. Why did he feel like this? He wondered.

Dutch continued with a threatening undertone in his words “You should consider yourself lucky, boy. Do not forget that I would have already shot any other man if they had done to me as you did”.

Dutch let out a deep sigh, and as if he had flicked a switch in his mind his facial expression became relaxed, his voice now calm and collected “You're special to me son, you always have been special to me, so I forgive you for laying your hands on me.”

Arthur couldn't get a good read on him at all and it left him temporarily stunned “You're crazy, old man” he said after a brief silence.

Dutch stood up and scoffed at him “Oh I'm the crazy one? Why is that Arthur? Is it because I worry about you, because I care? Or is it because I'm willing to forgive you for all the pain you've caused me, after everything I've done for you?” Dutch let out a frustrated chuckle. “Well if all that makes me crazy then I may as well just walk myself into an asylum”.

Arthur snarled at him and raised his voice “You forgive me?! After what you've done to Noa-, to the boy, I should be grateful that you are forgiving me?!”

Dutch sighed as if Arthur's constant mentioning of this boy had become nothing but a nuisance he no longer cared about “We've been over this Arthur, he was an O'Driscoll, we were desperate to find you and I did what I had to”.

“Is! Not was!” Arthur shouted, he could feel himself being on the verge of losing control of his emotions.

Dutch spread his arms out and let them drop against his sides, as if Arthur had just made some sort of grand revelation “Well then there you go, if the boy is fine then all is well in the world. Obviously he's all that matters to you now. Not us, not the family you've been with for twenty one years. No, the boy-” he emphasized the word boy “-is fine” Dutch tilted his head upwards to the skies above and continued “praise be to the Lord above”.

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he desperately wished he could jump up and rip the man's forked tongue out of his mouth. “Don't... just don't mock his survival”.

Dutch kept his chin up a he spoke, only his eyes glanced down at Arthur “So an O'Driscoll caught your fancy and now you're one of them? Arthur Morgan, son of Colm?” Dutch scoffed as he stared ahead of him again.

When Dutch had said the word -fancy- both John and Javier had turned their heads towards the pair, they'd all been listening in on the conversation but this part had surprised both of them, Charles seemed uninterested and hadn't moved at all.

As the words sank in Arthur couldn't help but wonder if he really was an O'Driscoll, he certainly hadn't felt like one. He knew he'd never trust any of them with his life, not even Jesse or Owen. He felt some respect for Colm, he was a strong leader and he managed his operations very well. But there was just something devious about Colm which had never sat right with him. Ever since Colm had used him as his plaything with the threat of extorting innocents above his head, he became more wary of him. Noah had been the only one of them he managed to connect with, on a very personal level even. 

But Noah wasn't really an O'Driscoll either, he was just a kid who Colm took in when he was in a bad place, he never robbed or killed like the rest of them had, all he'd ever done was help folk. The more Arthur thought about it, the more he felt certain that the O'Driscoll's weren't who he belonged with, but it was where he wanted to be, not with Colm and his men, but with Noah.

Arthur lifted his head so he could meet Dutch's eyes before he spoke “I ain't part of no gang, 'm just trying to figure things out” there was sorrow in his voice, the realization of not belonging anywhere, not remembering who he was, had hit him hard.

Dutch had no ears for the sadness Arthur had expressed his words in, he hadn't even properly heard the words which were spoken, he had however formed a conclusion based on what he decided was said “So you've chosen to betray us, to betray me,” his words were laced with venom.

Arthur had nothing, his lips were parted but he was at a loss for words, he merely stared back at Dutch with nothing but sadness and confusion in his eyes.

Dutch nodded his head at Arthur before he walked away, he needed to be away from everyone for a bit.

Javier got up and kept his distance as he slowly trailed after Dutch, he wouldn't let his presence be known, he just wanted to make sure he'd be safe.

When Dutch was far enough away Charles got up and crouched back down in front of Arthur. “Do you want water?” his voice sounded monotonous as always.

Arthur sighed, he did, he badly wanted some “No, 'm fine,” he croaked, and silently cursed his throat for it's betrayal of his needs.

Charles side stepped Arthur's legs and held his canteen up to the man's lips, but Arthur had kept his lips firmly pressed together and refused to drink.

“Sometimes we must forgo our feelings and give our body what it needs so it can live to fight another day” Charles said.

Arthur's eyes shot up to meet Charles', he held the stare for a few seconds before he parted his lips to accept the water which had been offered to him, he drank slowly at first but it soon turned to greedy gulps until nothing remained inside the canteen.

Charles took a few steps backwards and crouched down in front of Arthur once more.

Arthur frowned at him, the man's prolonged stare made him feel uncomfortable.

“What is my name?” Charles finally broke the silence.

Arthur rapidly blinked, the question clearly caught him off guard “What? Ch-Charles?” There was uncertainty in his voice.

John's eyes had been darting between Charles and Arthur, he wondered where the man was going with this.

“My full name, Arthur, what is it?” Charles asked.

Arthur parted his lips but hadn't answered him immediately “I don't...” Arthur cleared his throat and steeled himself “you're a Van der Linde, why should I know or care?”

“Wait... what?!” John got up and positioned himself next to Charles, only he remained standing.

“You don't remember who we are.” It wasn't a question, Charles had made a statement.

John looked down at Charles and then immediately turned his head back towards Arthur “...Arthur?”

Arthur slowly shook his head at them.

John frowned and wondered if Arthur was playing some sort of mind game with them, but he knew Charles always had good instincts when it came to people, much better than he ever did for sure.

“I followed your tracks out of the old mansion to a cliff edge, it looked like you jumped into the river” Charles said.

Arthur raised his brows when Charles mentioned a river “I don't remember jumping, only drowning.”

“What happened in the old mansion?” John asked.

Arthur looked up at him, shook his head and shrugged.

“So what, you almost drowned and then forgot who we is, just like that?” There was disbelief in John's voice.

Charles crouch walked over to Arthur and reached out for his forehead, he brushed some of Arthur's hairs to the side before he stroked his index and middle finger over a large scar he'd never seen on him before now.

At first Arthur wanted to jerk his head away from the man's touch, but he stayed still. His brain told him not to trust this man, Colm had made it very clear to him that the Van der Linde's were dangerous schemers. His gut on the other hand was telling him that this man would never willingly hurt him, Arthur felt compelled to go with his gut for once. He hadn't forgotten how the man could have easily shot him just yesterday, but had chosen not to. That had to account for something, he thought.

“It looks like you hit your head against something, a rock in the river is my guess, those rapids were dangerous.” Charles stood up and turned to face John “I've heard of this before, men taking a severe blow to the head and forgetting things, sometimes just names and places, other times everything, even their own names.”

“Really?” John was still trying to piece everything together “So...how do we fix him?”

“I ain't broken.” Arthur spat, he wasn't happy with how they started to talk about him as if he weren't there.

Charles turned his head towards Arthur “I don't know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! These fellas are hard to write for ( which means R* did a great job creating them ) but oh so fun.  
> It feels like I didn't do a good job but I guess I always feel that way about everything >.<
> 
> Our boah is finally at a point where he may get some clarity about his past, if things go well for him that is...
> 
> Anyways let me know what you think, hope you enjoyed!


	15. Chapter 15

Dutch returned from his short walk, his stride increased in speed when he could see John had started to remove the knots from the rope which pinned Arthur's body to tree he'd been tied to.

“And what exactly do you think you're doing, John?” The annoyance in Dutch's voice showed that his time brief time away hadn't done much to calm him down.

“Ain't we going back to camp?” John halted his efforts with the knots and turned to face Dutch.

“I don't know John, are we? Since apparently you're making the decisions now.” Dutch had been facing Arthur but his eyes side glanced towards John.

“Christ, Dutch, was just a question.” John shrugged his shoulders at him.

“We are not taking someone who associates with Colm back to camp.” Dutch's voice was firm.

“For Christ sake, Dutch, it's Arthur! He ain't.... he ain't himself right now, tell him Charles,” John motioned at Charles.

“I think a head injury made him forget who we are,” Charles said.

Dutch's brows went up as he turned his head towards Charles. “Head injury? How terribly convenient,” he snorted.

John was baffled “Dutch?”

“It makes sense, the Arthur we know would never join the O'Driscoll's.” Charles remained calm, he was fairly new to the gang and couldn't be as brazen with Dutch like he'd seen Arthur and John be.

“That is exactly what he would do if it serves his motives, Arthur's loyalties have always been more to himself than to us.” There was a coldness in Dutch's words.

John's frustration became apparent when he raised his voice “That's a bunch 'o nonsense Dutch and you know it.”

“I am in no mood to have to listen to you doubting me, John.” Dutch locked his eyes with John until the man felt compelled to turn his head away.

“We can't cut him loose, he's not himself right now,” Charles did his best to be the voice of reason. He never expected Dutch to be so quick to turn against Arthur, not after all the stress he'd seen the man go through in the previous weeks.

“I need both of you to stop doubting me, I've known Arthur longer than either of you. In case you forgot, he almost killed me yesterday for his new... loyalties.” When Dutch raised his chin, the others could tell that they were getting close to a point where Dutch would no longer be willing to listen to any more debates.

“Colm O'Driscoll must have turned him against you, maybe somehow even manipulated him. He doesn't remember you or his family, we can't punish him for that,” Charles pleaded.

Dutch stretched his arms out. “Then what would you have me do, Mr. Smith? Let him walk freely around camp so he can put a knife in my back while I'm asleep?”

Charles lowered his gaze as he was left speechless, Dutch had made a good point.

“Yeah but... he knows now that he belongs with us, he ain't gonna do that again, is you Arthur?” John interjected.

Arthur's eyes hadn't moved away from Dutch during their conversation, “I don't know nothing, only that I belong with no one.”

“Arthur.” John prodded Arthur's thigh with his boot, he was trying to convince Dutch to bring him to camp but now the man wasn't exactly aiding him in his efforts.

Arthur sighed. “What do you want from me? If I say I won't try anything, would any of you believe me?”

The men fell silent.

Dutch felt trapped between two fires. He despised Colm even more now that the man had turned his most favored son against him. Angry, sad, disappointed? Which of those described his feelings towards Arthur? After all the man had consumed everything in the bucket of lies which Colm had fed him. Memory loss, ridiculous, Dutch thought. Nothing more than one of Colm's tricks to lure him in to a false sense of security. A trick so he'd let his guard down and could end up with a knife in his back. He wouldn't fall for it this time.

Dutch had not forgotten the murderous look he'd seen in Arthur's eyes and wondered if that would be all he'd see in him from here on out. His son was gone, he was certain of it. Arthur had found something new to be loyal too, perhaps not Colm, but this young man... this boy who had stolen his heart, a heart which used to be devoted to him. Dutch clenched his fists. 

Javier started packing his small tent up. He hadn't said anything during their debate because he wasn't sure who to believe. Dutch had always been a wise leader in his eyes, as charming as he could be dangerous. He knew Dutch and Arthur had been together for a long time, if anyone would know where Arthur's loyalties lie, it would be Dutch.

“Being in the camp might help his memory,” Charles said, unwilling to give up on Arthur.

“Man's got a point, after all this time we spent lookin' for him, we gotta at least try, right?” John added.

Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose “I already have one traitor to deal with in camp and now you boys want another one there.”

John frowned at him “Huh?”

Dutch shook his head, he wasn't going to elaborate on this right now. He needed time to think, but with the O'Driscoll's more than likely looking for them, doing that here wouldn't be wise.

Dutch glanced down at Arthur and took a deep breath, he longed for a cigar. “Fine, we will go to camp, all of us.”

John felt relieved and got to work on untying Arthur. “Thank you Dutch,” he knew he was on thin ice with Dutch, as such he thought it best to express some gratitude.

Dutch turned his back to them, he was sore and his short walk hadn't done him any favors. The ride back to camp would involve getting bounced around on his horse, he sighed at the thought, the extreme discomfort from the last ride still fresh in his mind. “Oh and John, keep him bound until we're certain he can be... trusted." 

The tightness of the knots made it difficult for John to free Arthur, they'd been sticking to his skin so he was unable to get his knife underneath them. Charles hovered nearby, a safety measure in case Arthur would try to attack them again.

“Jesus Arthur!” John exclaimed. Small sections of the ropes were blood soaked, a result from his struggles during the night. Arthur's wrists were red, raw and covered in dried blood in the area's where he'd broken through his skin. John grimaced at the sight.

When his arms were no longer forced behind him and flopped to the ground, Arthur couldn't suppress a groan. He'd been staring at Dutch's back and imagined himself lunging at the man so he could strangle him from behind. Unfortunately that required having arms, which he could swear he currently didn't.

“Shit... uh” John scratched the back of his head, he felt unsure on how to proceed. Retying the man's wrists would cause more damage to them, he thought.

Charles understood John's dilemma, “I have some bandages and herbs in my satchel, I'll get them.”

Arthur furrowed his brows as he watched John. The man was being careful and tentative towards his injuries, to think that only yesterday he had almost left John with a gaping hole in his skull. Had he misjudged these men? Both John and Charles seemed like respectable men from what little he'd seen and heard of them. Arthur thought that the way they acted and spoke was very uncharacteristic for a group of ruthless killers and rapists. Arthur felt compelled to say something apologetic to him and purposely kept his volume low “I ehm... I ain't sorry for almost shooting ya, but I guess I'm kinda glad I didn't.”

John raised his head until their eyes locked and snorted at him “Is that your idea of an apology?”

“'s the best I got,” Arthur replied.

John chuckled, “I'll take it, besides I weren't too concerned, you couldn't hit the front side of a barn if it were right in your face”.

It was Arthur's turn to snort at him, “if you say so.”

John lowered his head again, this brief exchange made him feel like they were brothers again, like the last six weeks never happened. He still found it hard to imagine that the Arthur he knew wasn't the man in front of him.

John cleared his throat. “I spent days looking for ya, after the mansion... I-I'm sorry brother, if I'd gone and done a better job at finding you, none of this would be happening right now. When I was alone and lost in the snow you came 'n found me, but I failed to do the same for you.” John kept his focus on Arthur's legs, too ashamed to make eye contact with him.

Arthur had no clue what John was talking about and felt confused after the man's confession. He had no appropriate response for him. “Right.”

John sighed when the realization that Arthur had no idea what he was talking about dawned on him. “Forget it.” John felt awkward and stupid for running his mouth to Arthur.

To John's relief Charles returned with the items needed to take care of Arthur's wrists. The process of having the salve applied and his wrists bandaged was a painful one for Arthur. It felt like thousands of needles were stabbing his arms at the same time, he did his best to stay as quiet as he could.

When he finished tending to Arthur's wounds, Charles re-tied Arthur's hands in front of him. He showed the man some mercy as he hadn't tightened the ropes as much as he should. 

Dutch had been observing their exchange. To see Arthur in pain almost compelled him to offer some help. But he remembered his own pain, the pain he suffered through by Arthur hands. A voice from within told him that he should no longer see Arthur as his son, this man had turned his back on him. Dutch felt convinced that would never change. For years he'd done all he could to keep Arthur's loyalties where he needed them. Whenever he found out Arthur saw someone as more than a passing fancy, he'd send Arthur out on job after job. Those jobs served their purpose and kept him busy until his new lover felt abandoned or got bored of waiting for him and moved on.

With Arthur out of his reach and in Colm's hands, he could no longer direct the man's heart towards the things that mattered. As he always suspected, the moment someone else found their way into Arthur's heart he'd be more than willing to betray his loyalties for that person. Twenty one years of loyalty gone in nothing more than six weeks. Dutch was furious.

Dutch straightened his sleeves, his thumb stopped over the small splatter of dried blood which had been there for weeks. The boy, if he could get to him, he could get Arthur back and use him against Colm. Dutch clenched his jaw as the thought entered his mind. He had a plan.

When he saw something odd in Dutch's expression, Charles drew his brows together for a second. There was a small upwards twitch in the corner of Dutch's mouth and a glint in his eyes. Charles wondered what the man had been thinking about.

“Gentlemen, am I safe to assume that we're ready to resume our journey?” Dutch received a nod from the tree men. He proceeded to mount his horse, grateful that the men had brought The Count with them. He always avoided riding on the back of another man's horse, to him it looked unseemly.

John and Charles held on to Arthur by his arms and guided him over to John's horse. With a bit of effort they managed to lift him on the back of it, John mounted up after they got Arthur seated.

Arthur considered throwing John off the horse and make a run for it. Unfortunately his arms still felt weak and he risked losing his own balance in the process. On top of that he was certain he wouldn't get far before they'd lasso him off. His best bet was to wait for the right opportunity to present itself.

~~~

The five men had been riding far in to the afternoon and were only about halfway to the camp. Surrounded by steep forested hills they had no choice but to stay on the main path. The journey so far had been a silent one. A few hours ago they managed to avoid a large group of O'Driscoll's. This left the four men on high alert with their guns at the ready.

“Down there, it's Dutch and his boys, get them!” A voice rang out further up the hill from them and was soon followed by a thunderous stomping of many hooves.

Javier could see the green bandana's the men were wearing, he'd counted around eleven of them “O'Driscoll's!” He shouted as he opened fire at them.

Dutch steered his horse in to the forest, “take cover behind these rocks!” He ordered. Dutch leaped off his horse and whistled for it to flee. He unholstered his second revolver, fired a few shots and dove behind a boulder, all within a few seconds of each other. 

The O'Driscoll's had already opened fire as their targets scrambled off their horses. John grabbed hold of Arthur and roughly dragged him off his horse. “Get outta here girl!” he gave his horse a slap on her back and she immediately dashed further in to the treeline. When John crouched down next to Dutch he wasted no time and returned fire at the O'Driscoll's.

Charles moved from cover to cover behind the larger trees. His plan was to close the distance to his enemies and be within the most effective range to use his sawed off shotgun. Whenever one of them attempted to approach they ended up with a large gaping hole in their chest area.

The Van der Linde's had been very accurate with their bullets and it wasn't long until the last of the O'Driscoll's had fallen.

“That's it, we got them!” Charles' voice sounded distant to Javier as he'd been further down the hill from Charles.

“Muy bien!” Javier headed further uphill to check the dead bodies and spat on one on his way over to Charles.

John turned to his left and noticed the spot where he had dumped Arthur was now empty, “shit, where's Arthur?” John asked as he scanned his surroundings.

“I warned you not to trust him,” Dutch replied as he hugged his midriff and groaned.

“You gonna blame me for this?” John questioned.

“You were in charge of hi-,” Dutch halted his sentence, startled by the sound of heavy footsteps headed straight for him at an alarming speed. He turned his head towards the noise and his eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of Arthur wielding a large rock. Too slow to react, Dutch cried out in pain as the rock hit the side of his head, the force of the blow knocked him over. His vision went dark for a moment.

After his successful surprise attack, Arthur lobbed the rock at John which forced the man to attempt to catch it as opposed to aiming his gun at him. Arthur knew this would buy him a few precious seconds to gain some distance. He turned on his heels and bolted deeper into the treeline towards their horses. He hoped he did some decent damage to Dutch, unlikely, he thought, his arm muscles weren't at full strength. He knew he wouldn't have time to finish him off before the others would be on top of him, so he decided it was best to flee for now and deal with Dutch later. 

John had to catch the rock with both hands or get hit by it, he tossed it aside and holstered his revolver so he could help Dutch sit up. He'd go after Arthur but was too concerned when he saw all the blood which now dripped down the man's cheek. “Shit, Dutch are you okay?!”

Dutch groaned. Blood oozed from the cut on the side of his head, his ears were ringing and when he opened his eyes the light sent daggers into his head. “That treacherous bastard,” he mumbled.

Javier and Charles ran down the hill and attempted to close the distance to Arthur. They had no chance to get there before he'd already mounted the first horse he came across.

Charles slowed down when he saw Arthur had mounted The Count of all horses. The man had forgotten that the Arabian would only allow Dutch on it's back. Part of him felt relieved at that, he knew he'd get bucked within seconds and wouldn't be able to run back to Colm O'Driscoll.

Arthur struggled to hold on to the reins with his bound hands, the horse was not happy as soon as he sat down in the saddle. When Arthur heard a sharp whistle behind him, the horse turned towards it and tried it's damnedest to buck the rider on it's back. Arthur felt blessed that he landed on his back, as rough as it was, and that the horse somehow hadn't trampled him as it fled towards it's owner. "That hurt," he groaned and rolled on his side.

Charles and Javier were on top of him as soon as he managed to get to his knees. They didn't pull him up to his feet and carried him towards Dutch and John as his knees dragged along the ground.

John glared at Arthur as he helped Dutch stand up. Memory loss or not, he tried to help Arthur and stood up for him against Dutch, so had Charles. In return he attacked them again and tried to run. He didn't understand why Arthur was so hell bent on trying to kill Dutch. He understood the fear of abandonment and to die alone all too well himself, but they told Arthur they'd been looking for him for weeks. Was Arthur this unforgiving? John felt confused.

Dutch's left hand kept a handkerchief pressed against his head wound, his right hand was resting on John's shoulder to stabilize himself. His ears stopped ringing but he felt nauseous. 

Charles and Javier brought Arthur over to Dutch, they struggled to keep him on his knees. Javier had to use his full body weight to do so, for Charles it was less of an effort.

“Can you doubters see now that he is a traitor?” Dutch's eyes darted between Charles and John, but the men said nothing.

“How's the head?” Arthur sneered as he faced Dutch.

Dutch removed his hand from John's shoulder and clenched his fist. He fought against his urge to backhand Arthur. A long time ago, Hosea and him agreed that they would never lay their hands on any of their sons. But the man on his knees was no longer his son, he was a traitor. He knew Hosea would never understand, so he'd respect their agreement or the man would never forgive him.

Dutch kept his eyes locked to Arthur's as he spoke, “Mr. Marston, would you be so kind as to retrieve a lasso from one of their horses?”

As ordered, John left and returned to the men within moments, holding a lasso from a dead O'Driscoll.

Dutch traded his blood soaked handkerchief with John for the lasso and cinched it between Arthur's bound wrists. Arthur hissed when the tight ropes dug into the raw spots on them. The bandages which Charles had applied offered very little protection against this.  
Satisfied with his knots Dutch held the other end of the rope in his hands, he took a few steps towards his horse and tied it to his saddle.

John glanced over at Charles and Javier, they both looked as stunned as he did. “Dutch, what are you doing?” John asked.

Dutch hadn't responded until he mounted his horse. “He will walk.”

“Jesus Dutch... we don't do that shit.” John turned his head towards his friends, he hoped to get some support from them.

Javier, who'd before been silent, a show of his loyalty to Dutch, couldn't hold back now. “Dutch, this is a bit much, no? I mean... we can just leave him hogtied on the back of one of our horses.”

“This memory loss which Mr. Morgan is supposedly suffering from must be contagious, as you all have seemingly forgotten that he tried to kill me only moments ago... again.” Dutch paused, “he will, ...walk.” Dutch was done with this argument and squeezed his horse with his lower legs, it did as it was told and started moving.

Arthur was still on his knees between Charles and Javier, the two men were too perplexed to move. When Dutch's horse trotted forward Arthur watched as the rope became more taut, shortly after his arms stretched out in front of him. Arthur hoped Charles and Javier would help him up, but he fell out of their grasp as the horse dragged him forward. Arthur knew he'd have to try to get his legs underneath him by himself, but struggled to do so.

John hurried over alongside of Arthur and helped him to his feet.“Dutch!” he shouted, but the man didn't respond and sped his horse up a bit which forced Arthur to jog behind him.

Dutch slowed his horse down again when he heard the men behind him whistle for their horses.

Arthur struggled to speak as he panted “Punish me all you want, I ain't gonna give up until you pay for what you did to him.” The exertion from his struggles against Charles and Javier and the battle to get up from his knees had taken their toll.

“Save your breath boy, you'll need it.” Dutch hadn't bothered to look at him, he sat up straight and kept his chin high as he rode forwards.

Dutch kept his horse in a steady trot, when the others caught up to them they resumed their journey in silence.

“It'll take us twice as long to get to camp like this, Dutch.” John tried to end this by appealing to his common sense, “we ain't got a clue how many O'Driscoll's are still out there lookin' for us.”

Dutch didn't respond and sped his horse up, after he'd done that, John heard a faint whimper from Arthur as it forced him to jog again.

John grit his teeth together as he got the silent message from Dutch, don't complain or Arthur has to suffer for it. He really wanted to shout a bunch of obscenities at Dutch but knew he couldn't, for Arthur's sake. John wished Hosea was here.

~~~

A few hours later the men were still riding as the sun began it's descent behind the horizon.

Arthur felt exhausted and struggled to move one foot in front of the other. He groaned as he dropped to his knees a second time. His only motivation to keep walking were his attempts to keep the rope which connected him to Dutch's horse as slack as he could. The burning sensation around his wrists had become almost unbearable.

From behind Arthur, Charles had been fuming. He had enough and spoke up, “I won't be a part of this anymore, I'm going to scout ahead.”

“Suit yourself, Mr. Smith.” Dutch had spoken for the first time in the last few hours and didn't spare Charles so much as a glance as the man sped off.

“Have we learned our lesson yet, Arthur?” Dutch shifted his body sideways so he could look at Arthur.

Arthur's response was to spit at Dutch, he was too far away to reach him with it but the message was clear.

Dutch nodded. “Very well, then we continue until there is no more fight left inside of you.” Dutch made two clicking sounds to speed his horse up.

Arthur wanted to cry when he had to jog again to keep up with Dutch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I love paranoid / psycho Dutch. I'm sorry! Also I was a bit starved for some Arthur whump when I started on this chapter.  
> Hope I did okay at explaining why there was so little resistance from the others towards Dutch's behavior.
> 
> As always thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! ( good and/or bad )


	16. Chapter 16

The sun had vanished behind the horizon, it's last rays faded away to make room for the softer light of the moon. Bright stars had started to appear in the skies above the three riders as they crossed the grassy fields. Charles had not yet re-joined them and Arthur was still tethered to Dutch's horse.

Arthur's clothes stuck to his skin, drenched in sweat as they were. His lungs were burning and he could feel himself being on the verge of collapsing. To make matters worse it had become harder for him to see where he was walking as the skies darkened. He'd been forced to switch between walking and jogging for many hours and now his legs started to show signs of upcoming cramps. When his foot got caught on something he stumbled forwards and lost the balance he struggled to keep with bound hands.

Arthur landed on his hands and knees and let out an exasperated sigh as he pushed himself up to his knees. He felt short of breath and wheezed as he could feel his chest tighten up. His arms were pulled forward as the rope around his wrists went taut again. Arthur didn't give a damn anymore about reducing the pain in his wrists, he couldn't even feel his fingers at this point. With no strength left to stand up, he fell over. Dutch's horse continued at the same pace while Arthur's prone body followed suit.

John had been riding behind Arthur. When the man dropped down on all fours John was silently telling Arthur to get up, as if he could will the man in to doing so. He grimaced at the sight of Arthur being dragged along the ground and rode closer to Dutch. “Dutch,” John waited for a response but got none, he tried again, “Dutch! He ain't got nothing left in him, we need to stop.” He pleaded.

Dutch had turned his head towards John but not far enough to even glance at him. He faced forwards again and continued to ride for at least another forty feet before he stopped. “We'll camp here for the night. Mr. Escuella if you'd be so kind as to set that up for us.” Dutch pointed out a spot to his left.

Javier nodded at Dutch, got off his horse and hitched it to a nearby tree. They weren't in a thick forest but there seemed to be enough trees around to not expose them too much. Javier removed the small tent from the back of his saddle and got to work, he knew he didn't have much time before they'd be surrounded by complete darkness.

John hurried over to Arthur, lifted the man's arms and cut the rope which tethered him to Dutch's horse. “Arthur?” John rolled him over so he'd be face up,” John saw all the dirt which stuck to his sweat covered forehead and shook his head.

Arthur groaned and squeezed his eyes shut when John pulled him up to a sitting position. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he wheezed and the cramps in his legs were still ongoing. 

Dutch had hitched up next to Javier's horse and retrieved a cigar from his saddlebag. He kept it unlit between his fingers as he made his way over to John and Arthur. “Come on son, let's get you settled for the night,” Dutch said as he hooked his arm under Arthur's to lift him up. He motioned for John to help him.

Arthur fought against them to the best of his abilities, which wasn't much at this point. “L-let go, y-you bastards,” he coughed as soon as the words left his mouth. Arthur barely managed to straighten his legs and was half dragged by the two men towards a tree.

Dutch couldn't hold back a smirk, Arthur's willpower never seized to amaze him. With John's help he maneuvered Arthur until he was standing with his back against the tree. When they released their hold on him, Arthur landed on his knees and the impact with the ground made him grunt in pain.

John had walked away to untie the long rope from Dutch's saddle. He tossed it on the ground next to Arthur. If Dutch wanted Arthur more secured, he could do it himself, John thought. He turned away from them and helped Javier to set up the tent.

Dutch lit his cigar and crouched down in front of Arthur's kneeling form. He stared at the man in silence while he puffed on his cigar. Dutch followed Arthur's gaze with his own eyes all the way down to the revolver in it's holster on his hip. Dutch scowled at him as he rested his hand on top of his gun, discarded his cigar and nodded at Arthur.

In the blink of an eye Dutch had grabbed hold of Arthur's collar and pulled him up to his feet.

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, he hadn't expected the man to be this strong. Arthur's back was pressed against the tree behind him, for a second he contemplated to reach for the gun in Dutch's holster. But Dutch had just caught him eying it, he figured the man would be expecting him to do so. Arthur concluded that any attempt to attack Dutch now would lead to more punishment, so he forced himself to hold back. 

Dutch tightened his grip on Arthur's collar. “I've decided to be kind and offer you a choice, boy.” His voice was gruff.

“I could string you up from that branch above us and force you to stand on your already exhausted legs until they give out. Then you'll be hanging from your wrists for the rest of the night.” Dutch threatened. He paused for a few seconds to let his words sink in, “Or... you can promise you'll behave, then I'll let you sit down and you can get some rest, which will it be?” Dutch's eyes narrowed. 

Arthur swallowed, the man could be very intimidating, he thought. Part of him wanted to be defiant until the end and go for option one. His sensible side determined it would gain him nothing but more pain. Arthur knew it would be impossible to remain standing in his current condition, for the rest of the night. Dutch was right when he said that his wrists would be holding his full body weight before long. Arthur sighed when he had to relent. “Sit,” was all he said.

“Once more,” Dutch paused, “this time with respect.” Dutch rested his hands on Arthur's shoulders and pushed him forward with enough pressure to keep him pinned against the tree. 

Arthur closed his eyes for a second and silently cursed at Dutch. He licked his dry lips before he spoke, his voice as calm as he could manage, “I'd like to be allowed to sit.” Arthur grimaced when Dutch's hands dug into his shoulders, ”...please,” he added.

Dutch smiled as he straightened Arthur's collar. ”There, that wasn't so hard was it?” Dutch patted Arthur on his shoulders and guided him down to a sitting position. “Let's get you settled in then,” his voice was tender, any hint from the threatening tone he spoke in before had vanished. Dutch grabbed the rope which John had dumped on the ground and looped it around Arthur's upper arms. He ran it around the tree a few times to keep Arthur pinned against it and tied the knots at the back of the tree.

Arthur had his mouth half open and his brows were drawn together. He'd been going over what happened in his head, puzzled by how Dutch could be intimidating and malevolent in one second, calm and collected in the next. Happy when those around him are obedient, Arthur thought. “You're exactly like Colm,” Arthur mumbled.

Dutch had taken a few steps away from Arthur to re-join the others at the fire. He froze in his steps as soon as Arthur had spoken and turned around to face the man. The coming darkness concealed the icy coldness in his eyes, as his back was facing the campfire. “Don't ever compare me to that degenerate again, boy.” Dutch snarled.

Arthur huffed, “funny... that's exactly what he calls you.” Arthur was losing control of his emotions. He knew he shouldn't be testing Dutch right now. Knew the man could flick a switch and would happily see him suffer for his insolence. But here he was, running his mouth to the man like the fool he always has been.

“Had many pleasant chats with him then, did you?” Dutch's words had been venomous.

Arthur shrugged, “chats... sure. But rarely pleasant, again, much like with you.”

Dutch let out a frustrated sigh, he tried to remain composed. He didn't want to be forced in to a position where he had no choice but to teach the man another lesson. “You are testing my patience, Arthur.”

Arthur lowered his head. He decided it was best to focus on avoiding more of Dutch's wrath. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Dutch raised his chin and one eyebrow at the same time, he stood there and observed Arthur for a few seconds. Dutch was about to head back over to Arthur when the distant stomping of a horse startled him. Dutch raised his chin and one eyebrow at the same time, he stood there and observed Arthur for a few seconds. Dutch wanted to continue their conversation up close and took a few steps towards Arthur. Dutch was about to crouch down when the distant stomping of a horse startled him, he turned towards it, guns at the ready.

John and Javier whipped their heads around towards the noise of an approaching horse. They both got up as they readied their weapons.

“It's Charles!” He shouted before being in visual range of anyone. Charles managed to catch two rabbits on his scouting trip and had been on his way back to them. In the distance he saw Dutch had been dragging a prone Arthur behind his horse. He knew he wouldn't be able to contain his anger towards Dutch if he'd re-joined them at that time and decided to stay where was, until he could calm down. He had taken his time to skin the rabbits he caught as he watched them disappear in to the treeline. When he saw smoke rise up from between the trees, he knew where they had set up camp and made his way over.

The three men were relieved to hear the familiar voice and holstered their weapons.  
“Good to have you back, see any O'Driscoll's?” John asked.

“No.” Charles hitched his horse and retrieved the skinned rabbits from his saddle. "Got dinner." Charles passed by Arthur and gave the man a quick visual once-over to see how he was doing. Charles handed one of the rabbits over to John and they both got to work on their meal.

Arthur watched as the men cooked their meal while Dutch had been pacing back and forth behind them. He'd retrieved another cigar and had been slowly puffing on it. Arthur couldn't take his eyes off the food in their hands, he was starving and parched. But he didn't want to ask them for anything, didn't want to give Dutch something else he could use to keep him compliant.

Arthur sighed, he hoped Noah was well nourished and on the road to recovery. It has been two days since he'd last seen him. He remembered when the doctor had told him that the young man would likely die from his injuries. After the grim news he refused to move away from Noah's bed-side for days. One day, Colm had told him that he knew where Dutch would be and that they could go there and grab him.

Noah had improved a little by then, the doctor had said his chances to pull through had increased. It was then that Arthur decided he could leave for a few days and go after the man responsible for Noah's suffering. That turned out great, Arthur thought. He snorted at his current situation and sighed. Arthur rested his head against the tree and closed his eyes. If he couldn't see the food then it would be easier to forget how hungry he was, if only he could shut out the smell as well.

Dutch had not yet eaten, he'd been observing the men as they ate in silence. He could sense the unrest among them and decided he had to say something. Dutch joined them at the campfire but remained standing, he cleared his throat. “Boys, I understand that you've all been feeling... unsettled by today’s events, but I assure that I only had our best interests in mind when I did what I had to, none of us can deny that in his current... state, Arthur is a dangerous man, he's made several attempts on my life, on Johns and even Charles'. So it is imperative that we ensure our own safety and more importantly, his. Think about it, I need all of you to think. What if his next attack is so sudden, so vicious that it would force one of us to end his life or have our own life ended by him. Would that not be the most tragic of events? Right now, he's tired, we didn't beat him or torture him, we merely drained his energy in the most sensible way possible. And now we can all sleep soundly without having to worry about any of that.” Dutch's eyes darted between the three men as he gauged their reactions. He could tell John and Javier had relaxed somewhat. Charles however, had not been looking at him, which meant he couldn't get a good read on the man. “Now please, get some rest, we should be home before noon tomorrow.” Dutch added before he retreated to his small tent.

Such a charmer, man should have been a snake oil salesman, Arthur thought. He frowned and opened his eyes when his bound hands were being lifted. It was Charles, Arthur was surprised that he hadn't heard the man approach him, too tired to be alert, he figured. Arthur watched him as he worked on the knots to untie his wrists, Charles was doing this in complete silence. When his hands were finally free, Charles handed him a warm cup with food in it, and he set a filled canteen down in his lap. 

“I'll give you until I've cleaned my gun, but then I have to re-bind your wrists.” Charles kept his voice low, he stepped away so Arthur could eat with some privacy. He remembered from yesterday that Arthur had been too stubborn to accept any help from them. Charles assumed he'd be more comfortable being able to eat without any eyes on him. 

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered after him. He hadn't planned to thank the man, the words just left his mouth. This was a man he could easily befriend, Arthur thought. He wondered if they had been exactly that in the past, and if it was the reason why Charles seemed to care about him more than the others had. Arthur glanced down at the cup in his hands, it wasn't easy to eat with his upper arms pinned against the tree. He discovered that he could more or less manage as long as he leaned forward with his neck. 

Charles sat down at the campfire, he needed it's light to clean his double barrel. Charles got to work at a much slower pace than he normally would. This gave Arthur as much time as he needed to finish his meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I ended the chapter on a lighter note as opposed to my usual semi-cliffhangers. I did this because the next update could be several days away. I want to dive in and edit / re-write chapters 3 to 14, the plot will not change at all, just need to word things better and adjust the earlier chapters to match what ( I think ) I've learned from chapter 15 onward.  
> I've already done so for chapters 1 & 2\. I'll need a bit of time for this so please forgive me for the delay towards the next update.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and extra love to those of you who leave a comment, it means the world to me, always will. <3


	17. Chapter 17

As soon as the first rays of sunlight shone through the trees, the Van der Linde's got to work on cleaning up their temporary camp. Javier took it upon himself to dismantle the tent while Charles had readied their horses. John switched between helping the other two.

Arthur slumped against the tree as he softly snored, the bustling from the men had not disturbed his slumber. Arthur was unaware that the rope which had been holding him against it was now gone. He stirred when he could feel his arms moved outside of his control. His eyelids slowly opened and hazily searched for the source of the disturbance. He could see two hands which held his wrists up, when his gaze fell on the golden rings he knew they belonged to Dutch. Arthur sighed, his sore muscles awakened shortly after he did and reminded him of the situation he was in.

“Good morning.” Dutch's voice was soft.

Arthur grunted in response. He wondered how long the man had been crouched in front of him, watching.

Dutch was staring at Arthur's bound wrists as he held on to them. “We are just about ready to head home, all I need to know from you is if you're going to behave on the ride back?” The softness in his voice was gone, replaced with a more menacing tone.

Dutch retrieved the long coil of rope which had been on the ground next to him. He looped one end of it over the space between Arthur's bound wrists, he did this only once and held on to it like a leash. “If not we can repeat yesterday's lesson, tell me Arthur, is that what we should do?” Dutch's eyes locked with Arthur's.

Arthur swallowed deeply at the obvious implication behind Dutch's actions. He'd be tethered to the man's horse again. As if on queue he could feel a light spasm in his calves. He was a stubborn man but not a masochist. “Won't be doin' nothing, promise,” Arthur's morning voice was raspy and he had to lick his lips to get any words out.

Dutch patted him on the shoulder and removed the rope, “I'll hold you to that my boy.” He struggled with getting back on his feet, Arthur's beating had done a real number on him. Dutch looked forward to some of Hosea's and Miss Grimshaws special ointments for all his cuts and aches. “Give the man a hand here boys,” he gestured at John and Charles. 

The men did as they were told and with some effort got Arthur settled on the back of John's horse.

Dutch approached them while John had mounted up and Charles still stood at his side. “John, Charles.” Dutch paused and waited for their attention, which was immediate, so he continued. “I need you to remember that the only reason he's coming to camp with us is because both of you were so adamant about it. Therefor anything he does from here on out, anyone he hurts, will be on the two of you, do I make myself clear?”

Charles had nodded at Dutch but John shifted in his saddle. He knew he couldn't make any promises in regards to Arthur's behavior. “What do you want me to say to that, Dutch?” John asked. 

Dutch sighed, “It was meant to be rhetorical, John.”

“Rhe-whaticall?” John raised his brows and could hear Arthur snort behind him.

Dutch raised his hands in defeat and left to mount his horse.

If they made good time the ride back to camp would be less than half a day away.

~~~

As they got closer to camp Charles had noticed a change in Dutch's demeanor. He noticed the man had been lost in his own thoughts and seemed angry as his face had been locked in a scowl for some time. Arthur had behaved during their ride to camp so Charles had no idea what could be on his mind that angered him so much.

Dutch had slowed his horse to a trot as they turned onto the small path to their campsite at Clemens Point. 

John turned his head towards Dutch as he rode past him, he had no idea why Dutch wasn't eager to be home but he shrugged it off. John couldn't wait to sleep in his own cot again, they'd been away  
for four days and he hated sleeping without a tent.

“Who goes there?!” Bill shouted at the approaching riders.

“It's us! We got Dutch and Arthur.” John said.

“Welc- Arthur?” Bill's voice went up by a few octaves as he asked the question.

John would have smiled but he couldn't, how would he explain to everyone that this was not the Arthur they knew? When he rode up to the hitching posts more people started to call out Arthur's name.

“Arthur Morgan!” Uncle shouted as he scrambled up from his seat at the campfire.

Micah coughed as his drink spurted out of his nose. “Shit!” he exclaimed. Arthur Morgan was not someone he ever expected to see back in camp, but sure enough there he was on the back of Marston's horse. Dread filled him as he imagined Morgan beating the shit out of him until his face would be a mangled mess and he'd be dead. He knew he had to move fast if he wanted to get out of this unscathed.

Charles aided John with getting Arthur of his horse. Before both of Arthur's feet had even touched the ground, Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly stampeded towards them. The three ladies made short work of shoving John and Charles to the side as they hugged Arthur simultaneously. Arthur stood there, stunned, as they repeatedly expressed how happy they were to see him.

John took a few steps back with his hands raised, “geez ladies, calm down.” He chuckled, the look on Arthur's face was pure gold to him. He'd never seen the man so perplexed.

Dutch was still seated on his horse as he watched everyone gather around Arthur. Ever since Arthur went missing everyone's mood had worsened by the day. They'd been at each others throats for weeks and he had to intervene on multiple occasions. He had missed this, he truly had. Their exclamations of joy offered him a brief reprieve from the unpleasantness ahead.

"Girls! Give the man some space, show some decency!” Miss Grimshaw shouted. When the girls backed up she approached Arthur and gestured at his bound wrists. Her head snapped towards John. “What's this for?!” she demanded.

“Uhm...” John scratched the back of his head, “He ain't exactly himself right now.” John offered her the best explanation he could.

“Whatever is that supposed to mean John Marston?” Karen asked as she put her hands on her hips.

Dutch remained silent after Kieran took over the task of hitching his horse. As he walked past the group Miss Grimshaw had stopped him and reached for the gash on his forehead, dried blood still stuck to the skin around it.

“Dutch wha-,” before she could finish her sentence Dutch held his finger up to her and cut her off. All she could do was watch as he passed by her, it seemed like he was looking for someone.

Charles and Javier had stepped away from the group and left John to fend for himself. A horde of agitated women was not something they were ready to handle, neither was John but he had no choice.

Tilly crossed her arms as she spoke,“You'd best be havin' a good reason there Mr. Marston.”

John glanced over at Charles and Javier, he glared at them before he turned his attention back to Miss Tilly. “I... uhm well, look it's complicated, it's important he stays like this for now. For everyone's safety, including his. John tapped his own temple and whispered, "he ain't right in the head."

“He's filthy and so are his clothes, are we meant to leave him like that? Because things are complicated, whatever that may mean. ” Miss Grimshaw did not sound happy.

They continued arguing back and forth, John knew he was in for a rough ride against the ladies.

Dutch had finally found the source of his changed demeanor and approached the man from behind. “Mr. Bell,” his voice was cold as ice. 

Micah sat on one knee near the small dock, one of his arms had been slung around the shoulder of little Jack Marston. When he turned around to face Dutch he guided the boy to turn with him and positioned him to his front. He figured the boy would make for a fine shield to against any bullets aimed at him from either Dutch or Morgan.

“Duuutch, good to see ya back. Little Jacky and I were just talkin' about ya.” Micah stared up at Dutch, in the corner of his eye he could see if Dutch's hand moved to his holster. Micah felt relief that he had to face Dutch before Morgan. Dutch he could reason with whereas Morgan would be all anger and fists. 

“Is that so? What exactly did you have to say about me? Perhaps how much of a fool I've been in regards to where your loyalties lie, Micah.” Dutch spat his name out.

“I was giving lil' Jacky here a sneak peak of my latest spoils, telling him how much you'd like it.” Micah couldn't deny that he was afraid, he'd never seen Dutch look at him with so much contempt. He always knew exactly what to say to the man to gain his favor. Micah wasn't sure if he could wriggle his way out of this one.

“Talked to Colm O'Driscoll lately?” Dutch dryly asked.

Micah snorted. “The only time I speak to an O'Driscoll is after I've put a few bullets into one.”

“That's not what Colm said.” Dutch shifted his gaze towards Jack, the boy looked uneasy and eager to be somewhere else. “Son, why don't you go find your momma. Mr. Bell, let's continue this conversation in my tent.” Dutch his back to Micah and headed for his tent.

Micah let go of Jack whom immediately hurried off to Abigail. He knew Dutch wouldn't shoot him in his fancy tent so he felt safer, for now. Mica got up, wiped his pants and followed Dutch into his tent.

Sean patted Arthur on his back “Nice to have ya back, English, bet'cha missed me the most!” He smiled.

Arthur turned his head towards Sean and frowned at the younger man's Irish accent. “You an O'Driscoll?”

Sean took a step backwards and raised his fist, ready to strike Arthur. “The fook you just call me, Morgan?!”

“Wow wow! Easy big guy.” John stepped between them, he held his hands up, palms facing Sean. “Sean... not now, come on.”

“Not now? Don't no one call me that and get away without a proper beatin', let me tell ya that!” Sean kept staring at Arthur as he spoke to John.

John groaned, he could tell this was going to be a very long day. “Save it for later, alright? Ain't you supposed to be on guard duty now anyways?” It had been more of a suggestion than a question. 

When he turned around to face Arthur, the man was gone. John held his breath, close to panic. When the man moved, John could see past Bill's huge frame that Miss Grimshaw had dragged Arthur to the washing barrel.

John let out a sigh of relief and hurried over to them, “Miss Grimshaw!" He shouted, “you can't just be dragging him off like that.” 

Miss Grimshaw huffed. “This is my camp and I'll do exactly what I want with the people in it, especially the filthy ones. Which reminds me that you're next John Marston.” She pointed at the contents of the barrel as she gave Arthur a stern look. “Go on, it won't kill you.”

Arthur had been speechless since they arrived, all those strangers who were exited to see him. And now this mean looking lady had been acting like a mother hen as she forced him to wash himself. Maybe they weren't lying when they said he was a part of this group, does that mean Colm was the real liar? His thoughts were interrupted as the angry woman called his name out again. Arthur mumbled something unintelligible and splashed some water in his face.

Dutch closed the tent flaps once Micah was in the tent with him. ”How long have you been working with Colm? I'd like to know exactly when you decided to turn on me.” His back was facing Micah as he spoke, the anger in his face remained hidden to the man. His low and threatening voice was a clear enough representation of how he felt in this moment.

Micah snorted, his hands were resting on his gun belt, he was ready to draw if he needed to. “Dutch, I'd never, you know that.”

“Do I?” Dutch turned to face him, he wanted to read the man's body language as he continued his questioning.

“'Course you do,” Micah replied. “I worked my ass off since the day I got here, providin' for them that need providin' for.” Micah raised his hands as he continued to explain. He could see Dutch wasn't about to kill him, so he felt no need to be ready to shoot. “Morgan's been feeding you lies, Dutch, he's been threatened my me since the day I got here.” 

Dutch frowned, “why would Arthur have been talking about you?” He wondered if the two men had been conspiring against him in tandem.

Micah's mouth was agape, when he heard that Morgan hadn't even mentioned him, he got thrown off his game. Why would he not have told Dutch that he tortured him? Micah wondered if he entrapped himself, was that Morgan's plan? Impossible, the man wasn't that smart. Micah was puzzled.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Bell?” Dutch sneered.

Shit. Micah silently cursed, he'd been too slow to react and was at risk to expose himself as a liar. “'Course not, I was just thinking that if not Morgan, who else in the gang would be wantin' to falsely accuse me, is all.” He shrugged.

“And yet, you coincidentally mentioned Arthur first.” Dutch lit a cigar and took a long, slow drag from it.

“He's the obvious choice, I told ya all them weeks ago that he squealed to Colm, they knew where the camp was.” Micah said.

“Unless you were the one who squealed.” Dutch put emphasis on the last word.

“I ain't no rat!” Micah raised his voice but Dutch's eye twitch reminded him to be respectful, he repeated the same words at a much lower volume. “I ain't no rat, Dutch. I'm as loyal as it get's, to you.”

Micah decided it was time to appeal to his ego. “Dutch, I'd never... my loyalties,” Micah patted his own chest, “my loyalties lie with you Dutch, they always will.”

Dutch remained silent as he continued to puff on his cigar, his other hand had it's thumb hooked on top of his gun belt.

Micah faked a short laugh, “I see what's going on, you're testing me, smart, of course you would be.” Micah continued when he saw Dutch had raised an eyebrow. “I bet O'Driscoll told you I was a traitor so he could sow dissent among your ranks. With Morgan at his side he probably knew I'd be your lieutenant now. He figured he could turn you in to a doubter and get you to kill me, destroy us from the inside out.”

Micah waved his finger at Dutch “But you knew what he was trying and didn't buy it. So you figured you'd test me and see who I'm loyal to, see if I'd break under pressure.” Micah chuckled “That bastard had no idea who he was messing with if he thought he could fool you.” Make Dutch believe the idea was his own, that was the plan, Micah thought. 

“It's sad really, you always did say that Arthur would turn on you. I thought better of him, I did, and I'm sorry that I doubted you on that Dutch. He fooled us all.” Micah let out a deep sigh and allowed his shoulders to sag as he shook his head.

Dutch's eyes were darting around as his mind struggled to keep up with everything that was being said. The things he'd witnessed Arthur do, Colm's words, everything.

Micah saw the opportunity he was waiting for. Saw the uncertainty which had overwhelmed the man. He held one finger up to Dutch, it was time to play his trump card. “See Dutch, while the others have been gallivanting around town gettin' drunk and whatnot. I have been out there making money for us, for you and your plans to get us a better life.

Dutch's eyes re-focused on Micah, the man had his full attention now.

”Micah reached in to his coat pocket, pulled out a sizable gold bar and held it out to Dutch. “I've stolen these from some rich city folk. Took a lot of planning and it weren't easy to pull off, but I did. Got two more of them stashed in my tent." He lied, what he had actually done was sneak in to Dutch's tent while he was away. Rifled through Arthur's satchel and stole some treasure maps from it, the rest was easy.

Dutch held his hand out, when Micah dropped the bar in his hand he actually had to steady it. The bar was heavier than he expected. "Two more?" he asked. This could help them a lot, help them on their journey to greener pastures.

“If I was busy plotting against you with an O'Driscoll,“ Micah took great care to not refer to him as Colm. He hoped it would make them sound as distant towards each other as possible. “Then it wouldn't make no sense for me to be out there putting all this work in for ya, would it? Why would I even be in camp for all them weeks? Filling our coffers.”

“To spy on me?” Dutch asked, his brows were furrowed. He wasn't sure what to think right now, some of the things Micah said had made sense. Or was the man playing him? Dutch wondered. 

Micah chuckled. “Think about it Dutch, who's the one who disappeared for days at a time on his so called huntin' adventures? Never telling anyone where he'd be or when he would be back. Morgan. Who's the one that's been out there for six weeks, with ample time to conspire with an O'Driscoll? Morgan. He's a sneaky snake Dutch, you saw it coming but you kept your faith in him. You shouldn't blame yourself."

It's true, Dutch thought, more than half the time he wasn't even aware that Arthur left until he needed him for a job. Where did the man always go off to? Dutch lowered his head and stroked his thumb across the gold bar in his hands. He did have faith in Arthur, but it seemed that the man had none in him.

Micah nodded at him as if he was confirming what Dutch was thinking. “I always tell you exactly what job I'm on and when I'll be done with it, don't I boss?” This gang, it's so precious to me that I devote every second I have to it and you, that is true loyalty.”

Had Arthur been meeting with Colm behind his back during his prolonged absences from the camp? No, he wouldn't betray him like that. But he was standing at Colm's side only a few days ago, standing against his mentor. Perhaps his memory loss is real and was just making things even more complicated to figure out. Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose, he needed more time to think about this.

He was ready to kill Micah for his apparent betrayal only moments ago, but now he wasn't so sure. The man had proven his loyalty over the months and he brought in a lot of money. It seemed illogical for a traitor to do so. Killing him just because Colm called him a traitor suddenly seemed like a rash decision. After all, Micah's actions spoke louder than Colm's words.

Dutch's sagged shoulders indicated to Micah that the conversation had gone in his favor. He struggled to hold back a grin, proud of what he had achieved here.

“Get out,” Dutch sighed, “but keep in mind that I'll be watching you, Mr. Bell.”

Micah bowed deeply. “Of course boss,” he backed out of Dutch's tent. “Loyalty,” Micah said before he disappeared behind the tents flaps and no longer had to hold back his face wide grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not feeling too good about this one. Is the dialogue between Dutch and Micah too long? It felt like I had to cover his thought process in detail for it to even make a little bit of sense why Dutch wouldn't execute him on the spot. ( I was tempted to have him do it, wish I could do multiple choice for the reader in writing xD )
> 
> As always thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

It was close to noon when John took it upon himself to explain to everyone what they thought happened to Arthur. He wanted Dutch to be the one to do it, he should have been. Except he hadn't seen the man leave his tent every since he went in there with Micah.

John hopped on to the back of a wagon and stood there with most of the camp gathered around him. He told them about how Charles heard stories about memory loss and what it could do to a man. How Arthur seemed to remember nothing from before he jumped in the river, not even who they were and that he belonged with them.

Charles had been the one who now watched over Arthur. He positioned himself next to the man, if he ran, Charles would be ready for it. Both of them stood next to the wagon John was on and listened as he talked.

Micah rested on what used to be Arthur's cot, his had his fingers crossed behind his head so he could watch John give his little speech. When he heard that Arthur remembered nothing from what happened in the mansion he was elated. He would still find a way to get rid of the man, just in case. At least now he knew he had a lot of time to plan exactly how he'd do it.

Dutch hadn't left his tent, he'd still been staring down at the gold bar which Micah had given him not long ago. Micah's words weren't entirely convincing to him, but he needed more evidence than just Colm's word before he'd do anything. When it came to Arthur he wasn't so sure, he could hear John talk from where he sat. “Forgetting someone who's looked after you for twenty one years.” Dutch snorted, “Preposterous.”

“And that's why we gotta keep him tied up and under guard.” John finally finished his explanation about everything Arthur's done. He covered everything from the time when they rescued Dutch at the cabin until their arrival back at camp.

“Wait so he don't remember any of us? That's stupid, makes no sense to me.” Bill was the first to speak.

“Am just telling you what I know.” John really wanted to get off the wagon, he couldn't stand being the sole focus of their attention.

“He don't seem dangerous to me.” Karen said.

John sighed. “You ain't seen him do as I have, you'd better believe he's dangerous, all of yous.”

“So we're just going to keep him locked up? How is that going to do anything?” Sadie's repeater rested on top of her shoulder blades and along the back of her neck while her hands held it steady on each side.

“I... I don't know okay!” John glanced over at Dutch's tent and sighed again when the flap was still closed.

Miss Grimshaw was always more confrontational than the others. She cared not for directing any questions at John and walked forward until she stood in front of Arthur. Her hands were on her hips as she studied him.

Arthur raised his brow at her, he felt incredibly awkward. She had an air of authority around her. He couldn't help but imagine her on a chair, book and pencil in her hands as she took notes about him. She'd be doing this between the moments where she just silently stared at him, much like she was doing now.

“Are you planning to kill me, Mr. Morgan?” Miss Grimshaw asked.

“I know I am,” Karen mumbled from behind her somewhere before Abigail elbowed her side.

Arthur was momentarily stunned, he hadn't expected such a fearless question from a woman. “I uhm, no ma'am.”

Miss Grimshaw held her hands up to him. “Do you see a ring on any of these?”

There was a flush of embarrassment on Arthur's face. “No ma-,” he cleared his throat, “Miss.”

“Hm.” She gave him a nod and put her hands back on her hips. “Did those boys at least feed you? When's the last time you had something to drink?”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders at her, he didn't want to answer that. Especially not while everyone was watching him.

“Words, Mr. Morgan.” Miss Grimshaw said.

Arthur downcast his eyes before he turned his head away.

Miss Grimshaw raised her brows, she always expected an answer after she asked a question. She took one step forwards with her arm raised, ready to slap him.

“Ah!” John held his hands out to her in a stopping gesture, his eyes pleaded with her to not do it.

Miss Grimshaw huffed at John, she stepped away to Mr. Pierson's wagon and prepared something for Arthur. She'd force the food down his throat if she had to.

“Arthur.” Abigail stepped closer to him. When John jumped off the wagon to get in between them she stopped him. Abigail wrapped her hands around a few of Arthur's fingers and lifted them a little closer to her. “Do you remember who I am?”

Arthur turned his head to face the woman who spoke to him. Her warm smile, soft voice and gentle touch had absorbed all the saliva from his already dry mouth. He shook his head ever so slightly and had to lick his lips before he could speak, “'m sorry, no.” His voice was gruff.

Abigail was still smiling as she nodded at him. “We'll help you remember, I promise.” She gently shook his hands before she let go and stepped away. Tears welled up in her eyes and she hurried back to her tent.

Sadie held her repeater in one hand and kicked John against his lower leg.

“Ow! What?” John kept his eyes on Sadie as he leaned over to rub the sore spot.

Sadie gestured towards Abigail's tent, when John shrugged at her she rolled her eyes. “Go after her you idiot,” she whispered.

John stood on his toes to look past everyone and at Abigail. “She's fine, she don't need me to fuss over her.” John flinched when Sadie gave him a death glare and raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, just don't be blamin' me if Arthur gets funny again and starts killing y'all.” He said before he headed over to Abigail and Jack. 

“Alright, time to get some food in you, sit down over there.” Miss Grimshaw pointed at the table where she set out a bowl of stew and a cup of water for him. “The rest of you get back to work!” She yelled at the others before she turned her attention back to Arthur. “Come on then,” Grimshaw grabbed hold of his sleeve and pulled him over to the table.

Charles couldn't do much more than follow them and hover close to Arthur. It seemed like the man wasn't about to attack anyone, especially not the women. Which is why Charles hadn't intervened when they got closer than they should. He noticed Javier had stayed close to them as well, at least he wasn't alone in case Arthur tried something, he thought.

Arthur sat down on the chair and eyed the bowl of whatever in front of him. Bits of vegetables and gamey meat it seemed. He didn't want to eat in front of them, not when he could still feel many eyes on him. But the woman stared daggers into his skull, he hadn't looked at her but he could certainly feel it as she stood next to him. If it could get her off his back he'd gladly eat, Arthur thought. 

Arthur fumbled with the spoon his hands still bound as they were. He guessed it would be easier if he kept the head of the spoon faced towards him. He scooped some food on it and into his mouth, relieved that his idea worked out. Arthur chewed for a few seconds before he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, the food which was in his mouth dripped out of it and back in to the bowl. “Shit.” He spat on the ground.

“At least you haven't forgotten how to be rude Mr. Morgan.” Pierson grumbled from behind him as he continued to skin the rabbit he'd been working on.

The corner of Charles' mouth twitched upwards for a split second.

Miss Grimshaw rolled her eyes and retrieved a small burlap sack from underneath Pierson's table. She opened it and dropped some oregano into Arthur's bowl. “Try now.”

Arthur groaned and raised his head to look up at her, when she gestured at his bowl he knew that she wouldn't leave him alone. He wondered if they had already started to torture him for information and he just hadn't realized it.

Arthur stirred the food with his spoon before he tried again. This time he sniffed it before he dared to defile his mouth once more. He stuck his tongue out and lapped at the spoon for a quick taste. When he took the whole spoonful in his mouth he chewed with his eyes squeezed shut. He missed Noah's food, that boy knew how to prepare a delicious meal.

Miss Grimshaw made a noise which indicated she was satisfied. “You eat all of that now and no more fussing Mr. Morgan, you ain't no child, be grateful we have any food at all to serve you.”

Arthur said a silent thank you when she finally left him alone. He took a few more bites before he exchanged the spoon in his hands with the cup of water and swallowed a mouthful of it. “I ain't in a killing mood just yet, don't be needin' to hover so close,” he half joked. 

Charles knew the man was talking to him. “You know I can't take any chances, you'd do the same.”

“Suppose so.” Arthur shrugged.

“Arthur Morgan!” Uncle sat down opposite of him and set his bottle of whiskey down on the table. “Surely you remember your favorite uncle!” He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.

Arthur wrinkled his nose when it was overwhelmed with the strong smell of whiskey from the man which the wind had so generously sent in his direction. “Sorry mister, I don't.”

Uncle gasped and rested a hand on his chest, “you break my heart.” Uncle pushed the bottle of whiskey towards Arthur. “Have some of that, always helps me with my thinking.”

“Uncle.” Charles grabbed the bottle before Arthur could. He knew the man was a bad enough drunk when he wasn't trying to kill anyone. There was no way in hell he'd let Arthur touch any alcohol.

“Well excuse me for being friendly.” Uncle huffed, he leaned forward towards Arthur and lowered his voice. “Folk round here is always so serious 'bout things.” He raised his head at Charles and spoke louder, “some more so than others.”

“Get out of here Uncle, give the man some peace.” Charles narrowed his eyes at him.

“Oo'ooh, see what I mean.” He said to Arthur as he raised his hands at Charles, Uncle got up and snagged his bottle back from Charles. He was now in search of a nice spot in the shade where could do some more thinking or maybe a nap first, he thought.

John was on his way over to Arthur and Charles, he made sure Miss Adler was no where to be seen before he crossed over from Abigail's tent to Pearson's wagon. “Miss Grimshaw?” He pointed at the food in front of Arthur as he looked at Charles.

Charles nodded at him. “Is Dutch not coming outside?”

John shrugged, “I ain't got no clue what he's doing in there. You know where Hosea 'n Lenny are?”

“Bill told me they've been gone for three days, working a big job or something, they should be back today or tomorrow.” Charles said.

John still stared at Dutch's tent. He really wanted Hosea to be around in case Dutch planned to be unfriendly to Arthur or Arthur to him. Maybe him being in his tent was a good thing for now? John wondered. “What we doing with him them?” John lowered his gaze to Arthur. 

“I guess we tie him up somewhere and take turns watching him.” Charles turned his head left and right in search of a good spot.

“Ain't that a bit... humiliating?” John asked.

“We can't just leave him, you know Dutch wasn't wrong when he said he'd end up with a knife in his back.” Charles wasn't concerned that Arthur could hear him, he was always upfront with everyone.

Arthur drank the last of his stew and set the bowl back down. “Just let me go, I'll leave without tryin' to hurt anyone, you have my word.”

“You know we can't be doing that, Arthur.” John said.

“Why?!” Arthur jumped up to face them, he immediately heard the hammer of a gun being cocked to his left. Charles had taken a step back, one foot in front of the other, ready to fight. Arthur sighed and raised his hands at them. “Why?” He asked more calmly.

“Can't have you runnin' back to Colm and tell him where we is.” John wished the others had listened to him when he suggested they should blindfold Arthur.

“So yous just gonna keep me prisoner 'till I remember whatever it is you be wanting me to remember? What if I don't, 's that when the torture starts before it ends with a killin'?”

“Jesus, Arthur. It ain't gonna come to that.” John was quick with his reply but in all honesty he had no clue what Dutch planned to do with him.

“I've seen the same look in Dutch's eyes whenever Colm were up to nothing pleasant, don't think he'll be agreeing with ya on this.” Arthur side glanced to his left when he heard the sound of a hammer being lowered again and eased up a bit.

“Hey! Dutch ain't nothing like Colm O'Driscoll, you said it yourself, you don't know him no more.” John narrow his eyes at him.

Arthur snorted and met John's gaze. “Don't need to know him to understand what I've seen. Besides, ah know plenty about what he's done.” Arthur clenched his jaw and his fists as his thoughts jumped back to Noah.

“Let's find a spot where you don't have the whole camp watching you, besides I need to eat.” Charles changed the subject, he could tell Arthur's agitation had risen to a dangerous level.

Arthur blinked a few times at Charles, for a moment he felt guilty that he was the reason Charles hadn't been able to sit down and tend to his own needs. “Before you do I need to piss.”

John and Charles took him to some bushes at the edge of camp and stood close to him as he did his business.

“What about that tree near the dock?” John waved his hand in that direction.

“It'll be hard to keep an eye on him from there.” Charles said.

John had seen Arthur naked many times but it still felt awkward to be standing close to him during this. He cleared his throat, “I still think the big tree in the middle would be best.”

Charles shook his head. “He'll be in the center of the camp, don't think that's a good idea.”

Arthur wondered if he could make a run for it while the men discussed where to put him. His legs were still stiff from when he was forced to walk and jog behind Dutch, which meant he probably wouldn't get far before they outran him.

Arthur sighed as he buttoned his pants up and turned to face them. “How 'bout that tree over there.” Arthur raised his arms and pointed towards the smaller scout campfire at the edge of camp. “Seems like you always have someone near there and it ain't too far away from the busiest place in yer camp.” He shrugged at them “'s where I would put one of you if things was different.” 

John and Charles stared at each other for a moment, Arthur made a good point. Charles and Kieran spent a lot of time at that fire, so had Bill. And it was in direct line of sight of the rest of the camp so they'd see if Arthur attempted to escape long before he could. “Fine, but if Dutch asks, it was my idea.” John smirked as he hooked his arm around Arthur's and lead him to the tree. 

Charles retrieved some rope and looped it around Arthur's arms. He helped him sit and looped some more around the tree and Arthur. He used the last of it on his legs and made sure the knots were secure. He remembered Dutch's threat about Arthur's actions being John and his responsibility. “Are you comfortable?” 

“If I say no will you loosen anything?” Arthur shifted a bit, a test to see how much he could move.

“No.” Charles double checked every knot.

“Ain't it safer to have his hands behind him?” John asked.

“His wrists need to heal.” Charles was satisfied with his work and stood up.

“Right, I'll take first watch.” John took a few steps and sat down on the boar skin while Charles went off to get something to eat for John and himself.

Arthur let his head rest against the tree and closed his eyes. His couldn't remember a meal more tasteless than the one he just had, but it had been the most food he'd consumed in days. His stomach felt heavy because of it so he figured now would be a good time for a short nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured you lovely people deserved a little less Micah and Dutch for at least one chapter ;)
> 
> I tried to make it as lighthearted as I could without forgetting that it's not the best situation for Arthur to be in. Sorry if it felt like I wrote some of the gang members horrendously out of character. They're a complicated bunch.
> 
> As always, my love and appreciation for sticking with this story for as long as you have. I still have no idea how many chapters it will be, but I do have the ending ready(ish).


	19. Chapter 19

Arthur yawned as he stretched his limbs. The soft bed sheets compelled him to never leave and he'd happily oblige.

“You're so beautiful.” Noah whispered as he straddled Arthur.

Arthur could only watch as his own arms wrapped around Noah's waist and pulled him in closer. “Liar,” he said to the young man.

Noah leaned forward, and Arthur felt a warm glow inside himself as the boy planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “You smell nice,” he murmured.

“You taste nice.” The boy said. Arthur could feel his tongue on him as it traced a line from his forehead down to his jawline. Followed up by more soft kisses.

Arthur felt as if he floated in an endless void of bliss. He whimpered when his earlobe was being nibbled on, and felt his cock come to life, “Ah, 's good.”

Noah hummed as he traced his tongue over Arthur's ear. A line of saliva was left behind on Arthur's skin as he continued towards the man's cheek and lapped at it. 

There was a small breeze and it reminded him that a storm was coming. “Yer tongue's a bit rough there, boy.” When Noah's tongue traced it's way up to his eyelid and roughly lapped at it, he frowned. Almost immediately it no longer felt like he was floating, fear washed over him as he fell of his horse.

“Wha?!” A singular tremble went through Arthur's body as his eyes shot open. He swore he just fell off his horse but instead found himself seated on the ground. He jerked his head away when a large, rough tongue left a copious amount of saliva behind on his face, he grimaced. He turned his head to face the offender, and jumped as he was greeted by a horse, if the ropes hadn't held him in place he would have fallen over.

When his brain woke up Arthur realized that the most beautiful white Arabian now rubbed it's snout over his head. Most of his hair was carried upwards for a moment as it snorted, it made him smile. “Hey girl,” the nap made his voice sound raspy.

Arthur wanted to reach up and pat her neck but he was held back by his bindings. As if she could read his mind the horse stepped closer and lowered her head until it was almost in Arthur's lap. His fingers brushed over her soft, snowy white fur, “Artemis,” he whispered. 

Arthur heard a distant curse, and a few more as they got closer, accompanied by rushed footsteps.

“Shit, shit, shit. I'm s-sorry, I'm s-so sorry.” Kieran stammered. He panicked when Arthur's horse wasn't near the others, they always got angry with him whenever one of the horses wandered in to the camp. As soon as he spotted her he hurried over to lead her back. 

Arthur said nothing and watched as the man returned the horse to the others. “Artemis,” he whispered again. Without a shadow of a doubt he knew they were companions, she was his horse. Arthur felt excited, this had been the first time he remembered something from before that awful memory of the river he had almost drowned in. He tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, until the saliva on it was gone. When his eyes landed on his lower body he could see the bulge in his pants. His face flushed and changed color in to a faint reddish, his hands moved to rest on top of it, to hide it. A few feet in front of him John had been asleep against the log, he was surprised the man hadn't woken up at all. A tight sleeper, how interesting, he thought. 

When the wind carried a cloud of smoke past his face Arthur turned his head towards it's source.

“Pleasant dreams?” Dutch asked, cigar held tightly between his knuckles. The gash on his forehead had been tended to and the man had cleaned up, he looked fresh and dapper.

Arthur turned his head away, there was nothing he wanted to say to him, at least nothing pleasant.

Dutch nodded at Arthur and kicked John awake, it had startled him as his eyes flew open, a hand instantly reached for the gun in his holster.

“Go freshen up, son. Don't let me catch you asleep on duty again.” Dutch kept his gaze on Arthur, brought his cigar up to his lips and puffed it, only once.

John, embarrassed that Dutch of all people caught him sleeping got up without a word and scurried off.

“It's time we had a talk, Arthur.” Dutch left the cigar between his teeth, bent over to grab the boar skin rug, dusted it off, and placed it on top of the log. He sat down, satisfied that his pants would stay clean.

“I ain't got nothin' to say to you.” Arthur still hadn't turned his head to face him, his was not a face he wanted to see, it was one he wanted to slam his fist against. His deep voice, which cracked on occasion, annoyed him enough already. 

Dutch removed the cigar from his mouth and checked if it still burned. “Convince me that this-,” disbelief made him pause and emphasize the words, “memory loss.” He lifted his cigar up to his lips, “of yours is real, and not another one of Colm's games.” The question finally gained him Arthur's attention as the man's head snapped back to face him.

“Convince ya?” Arthur snorted. “How?” He'd play along, curious where this would lead.

Dutch took a long drag from his cigar, it made it seem like he needed time to think, but he knew exactly what he wanted. “Prove that you ain't loyal to Colm, tell me where to find him.”

Arthur nodded, mouth half open from the fake smile on his face, now he knew what Dutch was after. “'fraid I can't do that.”

“Can't or won't?” Smoke left his mouth in smaller clouds after every word.

“Pick one.”

“So you're loyal to him now. Thought you could lie your way in to my camp and put a knife in me, that it?”

Arthur chuckled sarcastically. “Hadn't exactly planned on being grabbed and taken to this sorry excuse for a camp. This really how y'all be living? The legendary Van der Linde gang, huddled together in a bunch of tents livin' like rats.” His smile became more genuine as Dutch's agitation visibly grew by the second. “Doubt even the rats would eat that slop you call food.” 

Dutch held his gaze on him in silence, he knew what Arthur was doing. If the man couldn't fight with his fists he'd do it with his tongue, the words stung, but he remained calm. “Nice try, son.“ Dutch took another long drag from his cigar and sent all the smoke in Arthur's direction. “I take it Colm introduced you to a life of luxury then?”

Arthur turned his face away until the smoke cleared. It's true that he hadn't seen or experienced anything better than what he had at the ranch. But is that what true luxury is meant to be? He wasn't sure, but it did feel like it whenever he saw how the rest of the O'Driscoll's were treated. How the Van der Linde's seemed to live. He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe, dunno." 

Dutch spread his arms as if he spoke to a man of greater standing. “Well then please forgive me your majesty, for I can not offer you the comforts you have grown oh so accustomed to.” his hands went to his chest, voice filled with playful sarcasm.

Arthur said nothing. His eyes followed the cigar as it got discarded and dropped on the ground, stomped on until it was nothing more than a crumpled pile of tobacco. Dutch's boots looked expensive, his whole attire did, a well dressed man living rough. Strange, Arthur thought.

“What about a family, does he provide you with that? Does he surround you with people who would happily take a bullet for you?”

Arthur's eyes wandered back up to meet Dutch's. “Why do you care?”

“I care because that's what I did for you Arthur, for twenty one years no less, I gave you all those things. We may not live like kings but we live free.”

“Them's just pretty words, Van der Linde.”

“They are the truth,” he sighed. “I'm willing to forgive you, son. Put all of this behind us and start fresh.”

“Not interested in yer offer and I certainly ain't forgiving you for shit.” He knew he should have lied, knew that these words would keep him a prisoner until the man grew bored of his failed conversion attempts and killed him.

Dutch's eyes narrowed. “Have it your way. Then you will tell me where I can find Colm O'Driscoll.” Words spoken, cold and dangerous, a switch turned in his head. Gone was the man open to conversation, now there was only a man who asked questions and demanded answers. This man did not tolerate jokes or sarcasm.

“Somewhere nicer than this place.” Arthur smirked.

Within a second Dutch stood over him, Arthur had no warning, no time to brace himself for the incoming blow. It was a vicious backhand, made all the more painful by the rings on the man's fingers, rings which had easily broken the skin on his jaw.

“I have had it with your disrespect, boy. If you're so insistent on talking like a traitor then I'll be sure to treat you like one.” Dutch growled, his fingers grabbed hold of Arthur's collar. He raised his free hand to strike him again.

“Van der Linde!!” The words echoed through the camp, so loud that it had even startled a few of the horses.

Dutch froze. As soon as he heard that voice, not the words but the intent behind them, he knew he messed up, big time.

Hosea wasted no time and got off his horse, one foot stomped on the floor as angrily as the next as he approached the men. “How... god damned... dare you!” He hooked his arm under Dutch's and dragged him away from Arthur, anger fueled strength helped him do so with ease. 

Dutch's throat tightened, as soon as Hosea had roared his name throughout the camp he knew what he'd done. He laid a hand on one of his sons, he let his emotions get the better of him and fucked up, royally. “Hosea... I-,” he swallowed nervously, “I didn't want to, but-.” 

“I don't give a damn about your excuses, get away from him or so help me god-.” Hosea bit back the rest of his words, breath labored, face as red as blood. He'd never been this angry. Never. 

Dutch switched his gaze between Hosea and Arthur, there was a thin cut on Arthur's lower jaw and it bled. He did that and he'd been ready and willing to do more of it. He lowered his head in shame and closed his eyes. “I'm sorry son,” he whispered. 

Hosea let out a deep sigh, Dutch's regret was genuine and he couldn't bring himself to raise his voice against him no more. His anger receded. “Go to your tent and take a moment, please.” His hand went up to the man's shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze, followed by a gentle patting. 

Dutch nodded. He couldn't face him or Arthur right now, he retreated to his tent with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. 

Hosea turned towards Arthur, eyes filled with sadness. At the camp's perimeter Charles had informed him of Arthur's presence, and his current memory problem.

“Oh Arthur, I've missed you so much.” His knees would hate him later but he wanted to embrace the one person he'd missed the most. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around Arthur, one hand rested against the back of his head, the other around his shoulders.

Arthur's chin rested on top of man's shoulder, unsure how he should react. The girls had hugged him earlier, it felt awkward because they were strangers to him. Like this older man, a stranger. But it felt different from when the others had done it. The way this man spoke to him, the anger he expressed when Dutch had struck him. He had never experienced anyone to be so caring towards him, even with Noah it was a different kind of caring. Was this his father by blood? They kept telling him his family lived here. He hadn't gotten a good look at him but as far as he could tell there were no similarities.

He heard a sob, it was quiet but distinct, the man was crying as he held him. And now he had to tell him that he had no idea who he was. Shit. Arthur hated this, he wanted to run as far away from here as possible. There were a few nice people in this place and he hated whenever he saw he hurt their feelings, when he had to tell them they were strangers to him. The woman with the child from earlier, Charles, John and now the old man. His ears perked up when he heard the sound of a knife that got unsheathed. The old man, Hosea, shifted around and soon enough Arthur could feel the tight ropes which held him against the tree loosen and fall. The man did the same thing to the ones around his ankles, but not his wrists. 

“Come on, son.” Hosea helped him to his feet, “I don't know what these idiots were thinking, just leaving you tied up against a tree.” 

“Hosea!” John hurried over. “That ain't a good idea, he's dangerous.”

“Charles told me everything, John.”

“Then why are you-?” 

“I'm going to see if I can help him remember John, what does it look like I'm doing?!” He snapped.

John stared at him, open mouthed until he raised his hands in defeat. Great, now I need to make sure he don't kill Hosea too, John sighed.

Arthur allowed Hosea to guide him over to a chair in the more central part of the camp. When he sat down the older man had already retrieved a small bottle from his pocket and dipped some of the liquid on to a small piece of cloth. He reflexively jerked his head back but a kind hand against his cheek kept his head steady. He hissed as the cloth pressed against the cut.

“Do you remember anything at all? Anyone?” Hosea gently dipped the cloth against the cut, he still struggled with the thought that it was Dutch of all people who'd done this. 

Arthur shrugged his shoulder “Not really sir, 'm sorry. But I think that's my horse over there.” he used his shoulder to motion in the direction of the hitching posts. 

Hosea's face lit up with joy. “Artemis? Yes she's yours, you were so proud when you rode in to camp for the first time with her.” He smiled, if Arthur remembered his horse then there was still hope that he could remember more. “That should do.” He stared at the cut for a few seconds, his vision not as good as it used to be. When he felt satisfied that the cut wouldn't get infected he pocketed the bottle and cloth. 

Arthur smirked, he couldn't take his eyes off her. “I can imagine, she's beautiful.”

“Come on big fella, let's see if we can get you to remember anything else.” Hosea helped him to his feet and walked him over to his tent. Bile rose up in his throat when he saw Micah, the bastard was sleeping on Arthur's cot. Just because Dutch gave the bastard to okay to take over Arthur's tent didn't mean he or anyone else had to accept it. “Get out of here!” He kicked the bottom of the cot and aimed for the area around Micah's ass. 

Micah jumped and sat up immediately. “What do you want old feller? He spat, unamused by the disturbance.

“I said get out of here, this ain't your tent no more.”

Micah got to his feet and took a few steps towards Hosea. “You can't tell me what to do old feller, I earned this, it's mine now.” He side glanced at Arthur, “we don't provide shelter to traitors 'round here. Strung up to a tree is where Morgan will sleep.”

Hosea clenched his jaw, it took everything he had to hold back and not put a bullet in him. A deep inhale then an exhale, he steeled himself. “Micah, for once in your god damned life, show some compassion, please.

Micah raised his brows in disbelief, but his mouth had upturned from amusement, he laughed. The laugh was exaggerated and from his belly, he paused and stared at Hosea, as if to double check if he'd been serious, then he laughed again. “You got me there old feller, oh you got me good.” His arm went up to his eyes and wiped a tear away. 

“Micah!” Dutch had been watching them from his tent, another cigar in his hand as he stood outside of it.

Micah raised his hands in defeat, he'd do whatever Dutch wanted, needed to stay in the man's good graces after all. “Have it your way. But he ain't sleepin' here, I'll make sure of that.” His brows went upwards as he stared at Arthur, a warning that he meant what he said. “Enjoy the tour cowpoke.”

Arthur's head was locked to the man and turned to follow him. Cowpoke. Why had that word sent shivers through his spine? He was being guided forward, spun around and sat down on the cot. Cold and clammy hands cupped his cheeks, turned his head, away from Micah. 

“Ignore that bastard.” Hosea smiled at him, “recognize anything?” Hosea retrieved a key from the front pocket of his vest and unlocked the chest at foot of the cot. He had warned Micah not to move it, not to touch it, but he had locked it anyways. He lifted a dark brown leather journal out of it and pressed it against his chest. He had waited for so long to be able to hand it back to it's owner, feared that he'd never get the chance to do so. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowed the fear of Arthur's death to leave him, this wasn't a dream, he was alive. 

“You okay, sir?” Head tilted backwards, he looked up at the man, tempted to offer him to sit where he sat. The old man seemed unsteady on his feet, exhausted even.

“Hosea, but yes I'm fine.” He cleared his throat, and with it the knot inside, which had made it harder for him to speak without a crack in his voice.

“Hosea... guess that means you ain't my pa then?” He lowered his head, “'m sorry for assumin' so.”

The knot in his throat was back, tighter than before, but not because of old fear filled memories. Arthur couldn't remember who he was but still assumed they were of the same blood. Family, his father of all things. “No,” this time his voice did crack, he cleared the knot again. “Not by blood at least.” He opened the journal's cover, that was as far as he'd ever gotten, respectful of Arthur's privacy. He removed a picture from the stack inside and handed it to Arthur. “That's your real father, Lyle Morgan.”

Arthur held on to the photo, he saw the resemblance, but at the same time it was just another face in a sea of many. He shook his head, “'kay.” Another photo was placed in his hands, on top of the previous one. His mother, Hosea told him, Beatrice, still nothing. The third photo, had barely been in his fingers when he spoke. “Copper,” his face lit up for a moment only to fall flat again as name had been accompanied by the feeling of loss. “He's dead, ain't he?” 

Hosea nodded, “long time ago, sorry son.” A frown formed on Hosea's face. “So you remember your horse and your dog, but no people, interesting.”

“Frustrating.” Arthur replied.

“Of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean nothing by it.”

“Ah know, at least it's nice to remember something,” he smiled up at Hosea, the first Van der Linde he genuinely smiled at.

“Hold on, got one more for ya son.” Hosea handed him the last picture, one of Dutch, Arthur and himself.

Arthur's eyes widened, he recognized everyone in the photo, in spite of them being very young, including himself. The warm welcome he got from several people here had confused him. Almost made him believe that he truly was part of their group at some point. But now, with this picture in his hands, it was set in stone. He had a life here which he no longer recalled living. With Dutch Van der Linde, the man he swore to kill in the most agonizing way possible. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed my style a bit ( mid story, big no no, I know, oops), Hate it? Like it? Didn't notice it? Would love to hear from ya.
> 
> Also, go team Hosea. <3


	20. Chapter 20

Hosea stood opposite of Arthur, he couldn't take his eyes off the man as he sat on his cot. His hands still held on to the photo's he'd been given; Arthur had flipped through them, took his time to stare at each one. The picture of the three of them was the one he decided to keep on the forefront. A good sign, or so he hoped. 

He wanted to leave Arthur be for now, give him time with the photo's, time he could use to remember something, anything. But he himself was short on time, he needed to smooth things over with Dutch. There was the ongoing job up near Valentine as well. When Charles informed him of Arthur's presence he had handed Lenny a wad of cash. Told him to go back to Valentine and keep working the job, sleep in a hotel for now. The boy had been sad, wanted to see Arthur for himself, but the money they'd gain from this job would be too good to pass on. He trusted him to handle it. 

Arthur had been staring at him, sky blue eyes, not innocent, but pure of heart. Perhaps this had been a chance for the young man to start over, away from their bad business, from Dutch. But the thought that he would have to part ways with his son; yes son, again, that was almost unthinkable. Were his thoughts selfish? He wasn't sure, but he'd do right by Arthur if it came to, he knew that much. Right; Arthur's eyes had been on him, he cleared his throat, enough dreaming, there's much to do.

“Sorry Arthur, lost myself for a moment.” The response from the man was a smile, a warm one, as warm as the soon on high noon. Perhaps they could play a game of domino's later, he'd let him win, then he'd see that smile some more. His thoughts strayed again, focus, he told himself.

“You should probably flip through this.” He handed him a dark brown leather book, Arthur's journal. “Can I get you something? Water, coffee?

Arthur shifted over to the left and placed the journal on top of the small table inside the tent. Unable to flip through it with bound hands he figured it would be manageable on the table. He heard Hosea, his eyes hadn't gone up to meet him, he still felt uncomfortable with these questions. Uncomfortable because he could see Dutch still watched them from a distance. He pressed his lips together, hesitant to answer, hesitant to receive.

“Coffee then,” Hosea smiled down at him, if Arthur felt reluctant to accept anything, he'd simply give it to the man. That and this was a good excuse to give him a few minutes to flip through his journal without being watched. When he passed by Dutch's tent he stopped, Dutch was watching Arthur, he hadn't noticed until now. He shook his head at the man, slowly, disapproving. Dutch knew what he meant, retreated inside his tent. The benefits of being friends for decades, words weren't always necessary. 

Arthur flipped through page after page of the most beautiful drawings he'd ever seen. Animals, places, sometimes even people, none of which he recognized, save for a few towns. And text, Jesus was there a lot of text, was this really his? He didn't recognize the handwriting, hadn't written anything since he woke up at the ranch, why would he? And those drawings, he couldn't imagine himself doing any of that, it was too beautiful, thoughtful. Nothing like who he thought he was, who Colm told him he was. A fighter, a killer, not some fancy city dwelling artist. Someone who was always angry or confused, but mostly angry.

He'd been reading through a few entries until a hot steaming cup placed on the table pulled him out of his trance. Hosea was back, he hadn't looked up, he could tell by his clothes. “Thank you,” a softly spoken reply.

“Any luck?”

“You sure this is mine?” He joked, half-joked.

“Don't seem like the angry fool you probably think you are, does it?” Hosea smiled at his own words.

Arthur laughed, that's been awhile, before Noah left to the Grizzlies, before Dutch-. He closed the journal, his jaw set, eyes glanced at the tent directly opposite of him. He wasn't aware that his hands had been shaking, not until Hosea rested one of his own top of them. 

“Wherever you went there Arthur, it weren't a nice memory. I'm sorry for what you've been through.”

He tilted his head until his eyes were on Hosea's. “Do you know what he did?” His voice was raspy, the emotional downturn made it harder to sound clear.

“To you?”

Arthur shook his head. If only, he thought, he'd have suffered through what Noah had ten times over if it would have saved his friend from it. “To a friend, a close friend.” 

“I see.” Hosea sighed, should he even try to justify Dutch's actions? If there was a chance to mend this rift between them then he had to try. “Dutch can be-”

“Don't, just don't make excuses for him.”Arthur raised his hands, he'd have none of this, not now.

A silence lingered between them, Arthur sipped his coffee as he sat on the cot, Hosea his while he stood across from him.

“Look mister. Sorry, Hosea. I understand that y'all want me here, that I used to live here.” He wasn't sure if he should be honest with this man, or attempt to lie his way out. “But the thing is, I don't wanna be here.” Honesty then, the words had left him before he had time to decide, spoken from the heart, not the mind. It felt better to not lie to this man, he told himself. Or he's just a fool, probably both.

“You'd rather be with the O'Driscoll's?” He always tried to be as open minded and understanding as he could. But the words hadn't sounded right, not when uttered to Arthur of all people.

“I want to be with-” Arthur couldn't finish his sentence. Unsure if he felt embarrassed to talk about it, or uncertain about the nature of his relationship with Noah. A deep breath, honesty. "With my friend," hardly a whisper, words spoken so quietly, it made him wonder if the old man had even heard him.

Hosea understood the underlying message, but wouldn't question it further. Some other time, in a more private setting. “I see.” He wished he could tell Arthur to bring his friend here, but he knew that wouldn't work. The history between Dutch and them, it wasn't a good one; how in heaven's name would he fix this?

Arthur's well being was the priority now, his head and his body. He knew it was true, but still had to repeat it to himself, to ensure he'd not make any selfish decisions. “It's not right to keep you here, against your will, I'll speak to Dutch about it.”

“He ain't gonna agree with ya.” 

“Just leave it to me, son. Why don't we pay a visit to that horse of yours, just promise me you won't run off and I'll take your word for it.” Arthur needed a distraction, something he'd enjoy, the man appeared more depressed by the second.

“Will you shoot me if I do?”

Disappointment flooded his eyes, Arthur's question had been hurtful, but he couldn't have known that. He cleared his throat, bit back a tear. This Arthur didn't remember that he'd shoot himself long before he'd ever be forced to lay a hand on him. “I won't, but whoever is on guard will.”

“'Course they will.” He stood up and followed Hosea, almost bumped in to him when the man stopped abruptly. He watched him turn back, gather the items on the table, storing them in the chest he'd retrieved them from earlier. He then locked it and pocketed the key, now he seemed ready to continue onward in the direction of the horses.

~~~

“Hosea!” John called out.

Hosea stood next to Arthur at the horses, they'd been there for some time. He was eager to sit down; give his knees a break, but Arthur had seemed so happy while he brushed her, fed her and talked to her. He couldn't bring himself to tear the man away from that just yet. “What's the rush son?” He turned to face John.

“I eh, shit! You untied him?!” John hadn't noticed until now that Arthur's wrists were no longer bound together. “What if he-”

Hosea cut him off, placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “It's fine John, Arthur and I had a long talk, he agreed to stick around, in peace.” He felt like he had to emphasize those last two words as he side glanced at Arthur. “Only for a day or two, to see if his memory will come back.” 

“But, I got a job in Rhodes and Charles is out huntin', I need to get him back to...” John pointed towards the tree Arthur had been tied to, he averted his eyes away from Hosea, afraid he'd get an earful.”

“Absolutely not, he's not a prisoner or an animal.” He sounded stern, as if he were lecturing a child.

“But Dutch said I had to-” John's words were cut off once more.

“I'll handle Dutch. You stay safe out there.”

John's eyes darted between Hosea and Arthur. “Fine, Christ, everything's always so complicated between you and Dutch. Worse than a married couple.” John grumbled, he checked the tack for his horse and sent one last glance in their direction. If anyone could keep Arthur in check it'd be Hosea. He nodded at himself, still, it was best if he finished his business in town as fast as he could. 

Hosea patted Arthur on his back. “See Arthur, if you keep it together for a day or two then there won't be any problems with wishing you well on your journey.”

Arthur shrugged in response, he'd have to see it to believe it.

“I need to go speak with Dutch, smooth things over as you will, do I have your word that I won't regret letting you roam around? No running off, they'll chase you down Arthur, and then no amount of expensive rum will convince Dutch of anything.” The was a great deal of concern in his voice, Dutch could get crazy if things didn't go his way. He'd always been like that, but it became harder to control over the weeks, even harder to keep him grounded. 

Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled at Hosea “For the third time, yes, I'll be good, promise.”

Hosea nodded, he had to retrieve a few items before he'd go to Dutch. He left Arthur alone and unsupervised at the horses. A lot more trust than his brain said he should give the man, but these were strange times. Desperate measures and all that. 

Two days, Arthur thought, he could play nice for two days and then he'd be back with Noah, without any trouble from these folk. “I ain't planning on runnin', if that's what yer waitin' for.” He didn't have to turn around, he heard the carefully placed footsteps behind him. 

“Oh, n-no, Ar- eh, Mr. Morgan, I weren't thinking nothing, just wanted to see if you needed anything f-for your horse.” Kieran stammered, he heard all the stories about Arthur's memory by now, it had been the only thing folk had talked about for the entire day.

Arthur turned around to face him, the man cowered before him as soon as he faced him. Why he was so afraid of him when he was surrounded by people who'd jump to his defense puzzled him. “Nervy, ain'tcha? Am not gonna hurt ya, calm down.” 

Kieran eyed him suspiciously, he expected an insult or a faked attempt to hit him, just so he'd be scared. The way Arthur talked to him was uncanny, no malice in his voice whatsoever. Oh yeah, not the old Arthur, he had to remind himself of that.

“Whenever I see ya, yer with the horses.” Arthur was forced to take a step forward when his mare nudged his back. She wanted more of his attention, he was happy to oblige. With a smile on his face he turned to face her. Gave her the same show of affection as he had been, one hand on top her neck, the other stroked her alongside of it.

“Uuhh yeah, I take care of the horses, that's my job here. Hope you don't mind but I tethered her to mine and took her out for a few runs, she was getting restless. Loves to run through the open fields she does.”

Arthur's smile widened, “I bet she does.” His head turned towards Kieran. “Thank you, fer lookin' after her, uhm-,” he waved his hand at him in a rotating motion, an indication that he needed his help.

Kieran gaped at him as his cheeks changed to a faint red color. Memory problems, he reminded himself again, he doesn't remember despising me. “Pleasure,” he mumbled, and noticed Arthur's hand motion. “Oh, Kieran,” he added. 

“Ey, O'Driscoll, who said you were allowed breaks, you ain't gotten to my horse yet.” Bill slurred, bottle in his hand as he stumbled past them towards the campfire. 

Arthur's brows pulled together. “You an O'Driscoll?”

“No! I... no. I was with em for a bit before-,” it would be awkward to explain it to Arthur. How he was lassoed off his horse by the man who stood opposite of him, kidnapped, tortured. ”Uhm.. I ain't an O'Driscoll, okay?” 

Arthur chuckled. “I can tell, you don't look like one at all, Kieran. Believe me I'd know.”

Kieran's heart almost melted when Arthur had used his name, his face flushed again. He liked new Arthur.

Hosea walked up to Dutch, fishing rod in one hand an expensive bottle of Guarma rum in the other. “We need to have a talk, Dutch.”

Dutch couldn't resist a smile. As much he had dreaded the inevitable, the vision of his old friend as he greeted him with his peace offerings, had always been a pleasant one. “And we are going fishing for that?” 

“With a good drink no less.” He held the bottle out to him. “It's best we go somewhere private, nothing in this camp goes unheard.”

“Forever the con-man, but you spoil me with this, who am I to refuse.” Dutch stretched his arm out, “after you my friend.” He followed Hosea to their horses but stopped as he passed by Micah. “Mr. Bell, we are heading out for a few hours, I trust you to keep things running. Oh and do check in with Mr. Strauss when you have the time, he has a job which would suit you.” 

Micah tipped his hat at him. ”You can count on me, boss.”

Dutch nodded at him and rode off after Hosea.

Micah rubbed his hands together. Javier, Lenny, Charles and John, all out working. Adler and Pierson were out buying supplies. His eyes rested on Morgan, who'd been fondling his horse for some time now, the old lady could be a problem he thought. Unless he had a good enough reason to have some fun with Morgan, but first he'd have to find a way to stoke the fire. 

Like a predator stalking it's prey, Micah searched around the camp. His eyes landed on Bill Williamson, the man sat alone at the campfire, hunched over, bottle in his hands. Perfect. He sat down on the empty chair next to Bill and pulled his knife out, he sharpened it, waited a few minutes. He wanted his words to come out as a fleeting thought, not a deliberate action.

“Ya know, folk been talking about ya.”

Bill raised his head, his eyes darted around as they searched for whoever Micah talked to, until he realized it was him. “M-me?” He was hesitant, always concerned that folk talked about him behind his back, “Who did, what did they say?” 

“Folk,” deliberately vague, Micah waved his hand at the camp, “they saying it's your fault that Morgan is being all... grrr,” he raised his hands as if they were claws. 

“Me?!” The volume of his own voice startled him, he shifted, leaned in closer to Micah, “me?” he repeated, quietly.

Micah beamed on the inside, to wrap Williamson around his fingers was always so easy, almost too easy. He nodded, “words been going around, that you cut that O'Driscoll kid up, you and Dutch, over at the Grizzlies. Him and Morgan, they-,” Micah looked around as if to check for any ears that listened in. He leaned in closer to Bill, just for show, pretending he shared a secret for Bill's ears only. “They're special friends ya know,” he emphasized the word special. He wasn't sure if it was true, but the way Morgan had been so hell bent on revenge for a boy gave him a pretty good idea on the nature of their relationship.

Bill turned his head towards Arthur, he was talking to Kieran. “Morgan is...” Bill couldn't believe it, he never thought of Arthur as being inclined that way. Figures, it's always the good looking ones, Bill thought. Yeah he looked at Arthur more than a few times, especially when he got dressed, he was always careful to not be noticed, so what? Ain't nothing wrong with looking. 

“Yeah, turns out he's one of them nasty queer types.” Micah shuddered with disgust.

Bill wanted to say something, speak up in Arthur's defense, but then Micah would needle him about it, so he didn't. “So uh, is that what you think too? That it's my fault. Did Dutch apologize or why is he angry at just me?” He wasn't sure why he asked, everyone always blamed him for things, even when it was obvious that he wasn't the one who messed up. 

Micah shrugged. “Just saying, smoothing things over could help with him wanting to stay in camp. It would make Dutch and the others very happy.”

Bill's brows went up, he had a chance to make Dutch proud of him, to be appreciated for his efforts. He would never let an opportunity like that slip by. “I'll go over and say I'm sorry, think he'd like that?” Bill took another swig from his drink, he lost count of how many he had. Figured an extra one would help him get the courage he needed for an apology.

“Just be sure to do it in front of the others, that way they'll hear you do the right thing.” Micah gave him a supportive shoulder pat.

Bill stood up, swayed a bit but managed to steady himself, “'kay, shit, you got my back though, right? In case he gets physical or something.”

“'Course I do, Williamson.” As soon as Bill had his back turned to him, he was able to free the vile smirk which lurked inside. He raised his legs to rest them on top of the chair Bill had vacated, and leaned back against his own. He wanted to be comfortable before the drama would unfold. 

Bill took a few not so graceful steps towards the center of the camp and glanced around. If he spoke loud enough from where he stood, then the others would surely hear it. They'd praise him for his efforts to mend things with Arthur. If he succeeded then Dutch would be happy, if not then at least he tried, that should account for something, no?

“Hey, Morgan!” He waved him over. The time it took for Arthur to approach gave him a chance to sip his whiskey, and another sip after that, he needed it. His eyes darted around once more when Arthur stood in front of him, the girls were already looking at them, good. “I wanted to apologize to you for the things I did to your friend, up in the Grizzlies.” His words were loud, they sounded fake, as if he were doing it for show, which he was.

Arthur closed his mouth, he was grinding his teeth, brows set in a straight line. His heartbeat had shot up, so much that he could feel it in his throat, his left eye twitched. “Oh?” That was all he could manage. He already envisioned himself doing things, bad things, his eyes lowered to the man's gun belt, a quick glance, it was all he needed.

Bill swallowed, he heard some of the girls gasp, not a good sign, and Arthur's chest heaved, fast, very much a bad sign. Part of him regretted what he said, but now he felt trapped, or pushed by his drunken haze, it was hard to tell. “I ehm,” his voice was no longer loud nor overly confident. It was hoarse, careful and more quiet. “We thought he was just another O'Driscoll, if I knew he was your friend...” His voice trailed off into nothingness. 

Arthur nodded, his lips upturned to a hint of a smile. “I understand, what did you do?” He sounded calm, almost reassuring. His eyes lacked expression, heartbeat as fast as before, breathing under control, barely. He saw hesitance in the man, but he needed to know more so his hand went to the man's shoulder and rested on top of it. “It's fine, you can tell me.” Inches away from his neck, his thumb lifted, almost by itself, outside of his control. A few inches to the left and he could press down on the man's jugular. Not yet.

When Arthur raised his arm, Bill expected he'd get a fist to the face. To his surprise the hand went for his shoulder, it felt like it was shaking, he wasn't certain if the whiskey made him imagine that. “It was just to scare him you know, a few cuts here and there.” Shut up you moron. A voice in the back of his head screamed at him, it felt off, Morgan was being kind, too kind. Why had he drank so much?

Arthur nodded, a few cuts. He'd seen those few cuts, all across Noah's chest, his back and even his arms. A few cuts. His heartbeat now pounded away in his ears. “Did Dutch make you do it?” He was surprised how calm he managed to sound, surprised his voice hadn't cracked. 

Bill shrugged. “It was my idea.” Damned whiskey. “But Dutch y'know, I didn't know he would leave him like that, I thought we'd... y'know. Shit, I'm sorry Morgan," it was a genuine apology, the more he talked, the guiltier he felt.

You thought he would kill him, like I'll kill you. His promise to Hosea had been shoved aside by the rage inside, forced into a vault and locked away. Arthur removed his hand from Bill's shoulder and nodded at him, fists now clenched at his sides. No more words, he couldn't, his breath was too shaky.

“We good then?” Bill frowned at him, he couldn't read Arthur, or anyone else that well. The man sounded fine when he spoke, so maybe he did the right thing, maybe he chose the right words after all? Bill awkwardly smiled at him, it seemed like Arthur wasn't going to answer him. He glanced over towards the girls first, they seemed fine? Was Miss Grimmshaw's shotgun always so close to her? He turned towards Micah and shrugged at him. He'd head over to the campfire so he could ask him what he thought of it all. 

Bill only managed to take a few steps until he got jumped, the weight on his back sent him down to his hands and knees. “Morgan what a-” his words were cut off as an arm wrapped around his neck and squeezed. He tried his best to buck him off but his movements were clumsy, the alcohol worked against him. A sharp pain erupted in his side, his cry of pain garbled as he couldn't get it past the tightness around his neck. He heard panicked voices around him, the word _knife_ was shouted, that explained the pain.

Arthur held on to knife, he already had his eyes set on it while the bastard talked to him, sheathed at his side as it was. Now he had turned it in to his own weapon, kept it firmly lodged into the man's side. He wasn't sure if he managed to hit a vital organ, hopeful that he had. His rage had always been his strongest emotion, it effortlessly shoved all reason aside, cared not for words, only action. This Bill was a big man, he knew he'd have a better chance if he attacked from behind. The man was drunk, it made him slow and clumsy, because of that, he'd soon be dead. 

His neck, plunge the knife into his neck. Rage spoke to Arthur, guided him as it always had, to be a killer, fast and efficient. The knife was free from the body it had tormented, free for one last, deadly strike. “This is for Noah you bastard,” a whisper through grit teeth. His arm shifted to a headlock as he still mounted the man beneath him. The knife hovered mere inches from his neck, the hand that held it shook, unsteady, hesitant to land a killing blow. Hosea's words surfaced above the anger, the request to keep it together, his own promise to do so. Lies, a promise now broken. 

His first promise had been to Noah, to get back at those who hurt him. Rage spoke to him again; the tip of the blade drew blood, he'd push, for Noah, for himself.

Before he could force it into Bill's neck, he was knocked off of him by a painful blow to his head. That Micah feller, he caught a glimpse of him. He had dropped the knife, didn't know where, temporary confusion from the impact to his head. He was about to be hit again, that much he knew. He failed to kill his target, hesitated for too long, he wondered if he'd survive to try again. The second blow knocked him out. 

Micah flipped his revolver until he held on to it by it's stock. “Not to worry folk, I've handled it.” He spun around, arms spread, always put on a good show. He bowed his head at Miss Grimmshaw, she stood there with a shotgun in her hands, shaking like leaf. For a second he thought she'd shoot Morgan. If only.

Bill gasped on the floor, hand on his throat. “Shit, thought you had my back, Micah.” He sat up on his knees, side glanced at Arthur, he had to double check that he was out. “Fuck, he almost killed me!” His free hand went to his side and pressed down on the bleeding wound. It didn't hurt that much, finally the alcohol did him a favor.

“He sure did, good thing your old pal Micah came to the rescue.” Micah helped Bill to his feet. “Any of you going to give this man a hand or y'all just going to watch him bleed out?” 

His words provoked action. Grimmshaw and the reverend hurried over to tend to Bill's wounds. His neck had nothing more than a small puncture wound. The cut in his side would require sutures, they surmised it had missed any vital organs. He got lucky, Grimmshaw told him.

Sean dragged a hand through his hair, he'd been on patrol when he heard the commotion and rushed over. It had been a shock to see Arthur on top of Bill, when the knife came close to his neck he'd been ready to shoot, but he couldn't. “Fuck, this is a right mess, what do we do now?” 

Micah wasted no time, he fetched some rope and got to work on Arthur's arm's, wrists and legs. He planned ahead as he did so, everything had gone so perfectly. Now he needed the right excuse for some fun, away from prying eyes and hands which would insist on stopping him. He sighed loudly, a faked expression of concern. “Well... it's best we take him out for a ride, have a little chat 'n calm him down.”

“A ride? You ain't taking him nowhere Mr. Bell,” Abigail chimed in.

Micah double checked his knots before he got to his feet to face her, hands raised. “Listen sweetheart, I can promise you he's going to wake up and curse both hell and heaven in to submission. Now that ain't no language I can allow around little Jacky, can you?”

Her arms were crossed as she glared at him, he made a good point, but still she didn't trust him. “You ca-.” 

He cut her off. “We'll just go down to the river and get him cleaned up.” His hand waved in the direction of Arthur's dirt covered face and clothes, his collision with the ground had been in a muddy spot. “Sit him down for a talk until he's calmed down and then we'll ride back, nothing more.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes at Micah, leaned in closer, her pose menacing. “If you hurt one hair on his body Micah Bell...” She didn't finish her sentence, the threat was clear.

Micah couldn't resist a smile, he loved her anger, always had. His hands went up in surrender. “Won't lay a bad hand on him sweetheart, don't you worry.” He winked at her, the disgust in her face a bittersweet reward for his efforts. Marston was a lucky man, perhaps he should consider doing something about him as well. Another time, he thought.

“Ow!” Bill struggled to sit still while Grimmshaw worked on suturing his stab wound. 

“Don't be such a child, I've seen far worse than this on you boys.” She wanted to protest against Micah's plans, overheard the conversation between him and Abigail. The idea to let Arthur cool down somewhere else had been a good one. But not with Micah, anyone but him. She did her best to forget that only moments ago she'd been ready to put a hole in to Arthur. A choice between him or Bill, one she couldn't make and hopefully won't ever have to again. For once Micah had done the right thing, subdued him instead of killing, he did what no one else had done, for once. Had the added responsibilities, given by Dutch, changed him for the better? Did she judge him too soon, too poorly? Bill shifted around again, “Mr. Williamson!” She slapped his leg, lightly, almost done. 

“Help me get him to my horse, red.” Micah pointed at Arthur, who already started to stir ever so slightly. He had to hurry to get him on his steed, a big man like him wasn't easy to lift. 

Sean hesitated at first but slung his rifle over his shoulder and grabbed Arthur's legs. Micah had to lift him by the upper arms, he could see the shithead strained to do so. That's right, sweat a bit you bastard. He smirked at the sight.

When they got Arthur on the back of Micah's steed, Sean still wasn't convinced about all this. “Where are you taking him, you're not going to be hurtin' him are ye?” 

“Like I said, near the river, not too far, till he's nice and calm.” He knew exactly where he wanted Morgan, quiet and out of sight, he had the perfect spot in mind.

“Who in their right mind can be nice and calm when they have to look at your ugly mug. I'll be comin' with ya, this face is much more soothing, ask the ladies.” Sean pointed at all of himself, not just his face. 

You little shit. He wouldn't let the redhead interfere with his plans, he'd have to think fast. “Listen kid.” His hand went to Sean's shoulder, gave him a single squeeze and pulled him closer, it bought him a few seconds to think. “You ain't wrong, but Morgan's a big fella, needs someone of his age to talk to him. Besides, I need you to run the camp while I'm out.” Another squeeze of his hand on Sean's shoulder, one of encouragement. 

“Run the camp? Me?” Sean's brows shot up in surprise, being put in charge, be one of the big boys. He liked the sound of that.

Got him. Micah kept his appearance as serious as he could. “Yes, you, but-,” he raised a finger at him, “only until I'm back, understood?” He gently pushed Sean away from him and Moran, towards the camp. 

“Understood, Mr. Bell, sir, something.” Sean beamed at the opportunity. He straightened his walk, adjusted his jacket and hat to look as fancy as he could, like Dutch. 

“Williamson!” Are you a cripple or can you ride out with me?” He knew he'd need some help with Morgan. The man was dangerous at all times. Williamson was as big and strong as he was dumb, on top of that he already proved to be easily manipulated.

“Cripple?! I'm fine!” He would never turn anything down, always eager to prove himself worthy of any task. Grimmshaw tried to stop him as he stood up, but he declined to listen and made his way over to Micah. She followed behind him.

“I thought you said you were going to talk to him and calm him down, how exactly does bringing Mr. Williamson along help with that? And are you forgetting that he's injured and needs to rest?” Grimmshaw glared at Micah, hands on her hips. 

“Calm down woman. I need someone biiiig and strong with me,” in the corner of his eyes, he saw Bill perked up at those words. God, he was so good at this, better than Dutch and Hosea together. His lips twitched upwards, he couldn't suppress it. He cleared his throat, there would be time to gloat later. “I'll keep him away from Morgan, in the background. He'll be there for security reasons, nothing more. If you think there's anyone else in the camp strong enough to handle Morgan you're welcome to point them out.” 

She scoffed at him, he knew there was no one else, but there wasn't much she could do about it, Dutch left him in charge. “If you put your hands on him, I'll make sure your next meal will be your last, Mr. Bell.”

“Duly noted,” he bowed at her. “Let's go Williamson.”

Kieran watched as the pair rode off with Arthur tied up, belly down, on the back of Micah's horse. He was surprised to see that no one seemed to get ready to follow them. For a second he considered to do so himself, from a safe distance. He'd been watching Micah Bell, there was a familiarity in how he spoke and acted. One he'd seen in Colm when he handled his own men, bent them to his will. Yes, he'd follow. If he sees anything bad he'd let Mr. Matthews know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5850 words... I don't even, this is my longest chapter so far, I'm sorry, my fingers just kept smashing keys. Is this too long? Should I split chapters at a shorter length? Is the irregular length a bad thing? So many questions!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, can you tell I'm craving for some whump? Just a bit 'm sorry (no promises). Blame Micah! ( which I'm sure you will <3 )
> 
> As always thanks for sticking with me, chapter 20 already, whew. Much love to you all <3 Looking forward to hear your thoughts on this one.


	21. Chapter 21

It was late afternoon, light gray clouds covered the bright blue skies above. As he glanced up, Hosea hoped they wouldn't have to cut their trip short. Dutch always despised being soaked, he knew the man would use it as an excuse to get back to camp. 

“This is it,” Hosea pulled on the reins of his steed. They'd been riding north for almost two hours. Both Dutch and himself had done so in silence, to enjoy the scenery, drift away in their thoughts, good and bad. He had taken them to a secluded pond, surrounded by trees. The gentle rustling of the leaves, chirping birds and the odd croaking of a frog, were the only sounds to be heard. He frequented this place whenever he needed a break from the camp. No one had ever disturbed him here, it was far away from any roads or paths and he loved it. 

Dutch was reluctant to get off his horse, the silent ride gave him time to think, time to get anxious. The conversation ahead was one he knew they had to have, but not one he wanted. More than once had he considered to ride back to camp. To go back to his tent and hide away with a book. But he lacked an appropriate excuse, he had hoped for rain, thus far his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. But he had hurt Arthur, so they had to talk, about that and everything else centered around Arthur. At least Hosea's seemed to be in a better mood than he was. 

“What do you think?” Hosea retrieved two small stools from his tack, one in each hand. He set them down on a flat spot, ensured they stood steady in the dirt.

“It's... peaceful.” He watched as Hosea set up the smallest of fold-able tables, the man sure came prepared. Two shot glasses, the bottle of rum and a cigar, there was barely enough room to fit all those items on top of it.

Hosea's hands rested on his hips, pleased with his work, he nodded at his arrangement of items. Hosea turned around to face Dutch and proudly presented his setup to the man, a wide smile on face.

Dutch found it impossible to not return a smile of his own. “Is this how you court all the ladies, Mr. Matthews?”

Hosea laughed. “Heavens no, only disgruntled old friends who need to clear their heads.”

Dutch scoffed at him, but the smile remained.

“Let's enjoy a few drinks first, take in the scenery.” He knew Dutch was anxious, offered him to drink in silence to calm his nerves, he'd find the right moment to talk. It was a situation which required a delicate approach, something he was always good at.

~~~

Micah and Bill still traveled south, they'd been riding for almost thirty minutes. They passed the Braithwaite property, left the traveled road, for the best; a man bound on the back of his horse could draw unwanted attention. 

Bill thought they were going to the nearby creek. Riding his horse wasn't doing his injury any good, he was more than eager for it to end. “I thought you said we was going to get him cleaned up, why we going so far south?” He grew impatient, wanted another drink, more than one.

Micah let out a loud sigh, his annoyance evident throughout it. “There's a river down south.” He guided them deeper in forest, trees so packed together it became harder to see the skies above. “If you need to go rest in your bed with a bottle, because you're too tired, you're welcome to do so, Williamson.” He knew the big oaf wouldn't leave.

“I ain't tired! Just wondering where we going is all.”

“Relaaax, we're almost there.” Micah half turned to glance back at Arthur, “comfortable back there, Morgan?”

Arthur didn't respond, he'd been silent the whole ride, rage long since replaced with fear. He wasn't afraid of these men, he was afraid of Dutch, almost killed one of his men. Hosea would likely be angry as well, and he was certain that his chances to be away from them in two days were now gone. No way in hell would Dutch let him go, not anymore. He cursed at his stupidity, his lack of control. All he had to do was play nice for two days and he barely lasted two hours. Why did that big drunk have to mention what he did to Noah. The horse under him came to a stop, good, he was sick of it, he'd been tied up on a horse too often in these last few days. 

“What is this place?” Bill pulled a face at the old shack Micah had lead them to, it was tiny, he doubted it had more than one or two rooms on the inside. “Ain't the river further south?”

“Hm hm, get him off the horse.”

Bill swung his leg over his horse, the movement hurt his side, he hissed. Now he had to carry Arthur, stupid Micah. He positioned himself so he could lift and carry Arthur.

Arthur wanted to shout at him, that he didn't want his filthy hands on him. Hands which had hurt Noah, he should have killed him, shouldn't have hesitated. But if he kept it together and nodded his way through whatever the hell the greasy one, Micah, wanted to talk about, maybe they'd give him a second chance. Let him leave in two days, without a fuss. The big bastard grunted as he was being lifted on his shoulders. So did he. 

The alcohol in his system no longer dulled the pain as much as it had, his side was angry about having to carry a heavy man like Arthur. “Shit, god dammit Morgan, you didn't have to cut me up like that, I said I was sorry.”

“Get in here Williamson, we ain't exactly got all day.” Micah had pushed the door open and gone inside.

Bill followed him inside, struggled a bit to pass the narrow doorway. “Why we gotta be in here? Being all secretive, I don't like it.”

“This place is perfect for our needs, trust me.” Micah used his foot to kick the bear rug on the floor to the side. It revealed a trap door, he opened it, lit the lantern he brought along and went down the steps which lead to a cellar.

“What do you mean our needs?" No response. "Micah?” Bill followed him down. Each wooden step groaned louder under extreme weight as Bill carried Arthur down. He had to squint his eyes, waited for them to adjust to the darkness down below. Micah stood next to a wooden beam where he hung his lantern, at least he could see now. 

The whole cellar seemed larger than the shack which stood on top of it. He walked towards Micah, the walls on each of his sides had chains bolted into them. There were many of them, always in pairs with about five foot spaces in between them. More chains and shackles hung from beams above him, hooks dangled from other beams. Dried blood on the ground had mixed with dirt, more dried blood against the walls. “What is this shit? How did you find this place?" Bill's stomach churned at the sight of it all. 

“The perfect place for a good conversation.” Micah rolled his eyes when Bill kept staring at him. “It's one of the Fay family places, they used to be the largest slave traders in Lemoyne. My kind of people," he joked. 

Bill gave him a look of disgust, so he corrected himself, “It was a joke, they ain't my kind of people,” he lied. “Drop him here,” Micah waved at a spot on the ground between two beams. 

“Cut him free.” Micah gave the order, took several steps backwards, revolver in his hand. “I'll shoot you if I have to Morgan, be a good boy and stay back.” 

Bill glanced over at Micah, he had his knife ready to do as told, but was nervous to free Arthur, worried he'd attack again. Micah waved his gun in their direction, man was ready for it this time. Should be fine this time, Micah will shoot, he convinced himself of that. Bill lowered his knife to cut the ropes, paused when the lantern highlighted dried blood on it, his blood. He made a mental note to clean it as soon as he could. Bill sawed through the ropes and freed Arthur from his bindings. When the last of the ropes fell to the ground he took a large step backwards, just in case.

Arthur stood up, fast to be on his feet. When he got a good look at where they were his suspicions grew, they could have just sat outside to talk, why here. There wasn't much he could do about it, Micah stood far away from him. It would be impossible to cover the distance between him and the other two before he'd get shot.

“Take your clothes off.” Bill and Arthur both turned their heads in his direction. “Grimmshaw wanted them clean, so we'll clean 'em, can't be scrubbing while they're on you, can we?” No one moved. A drawn out exhale, his head tilted backwards from annoyance. “Don't tell me you're too shy to be naked in front of two men Morgan, we all know you're more than fine with that.”

Arthur frowned. They all knew? He couldn't tell if Micah was joking. Wondered if there were any Van der Linde's whom he had long forgotten feelings for. So far none of them had given him any indications of such, probably not then.

“Hurry up, Morgan”

“I'll clean them myself, just show me the river.”

“You ain't going in no river with them wounds on your wrists, 'less you're dying for an infection, which to be honest ain't no skin off my back.” Micah snickered.

Shit, bastard made a good point. He removed his shirt. Why did they have to be in this creepy cellar? The cold air against his bare chest sent a chill through him, but not nearly as cold as the one they found Noah in. Bill's presence, chains on the walls, old blood from previously tormented prisoners. They all served as a stark reminder of the darkest memory he had acquired up to this point. Did they bring him to a similar place just to piss him off? Because it was working. The sound of a hammer cocking back, he was being too slow. Boots, pants and socks joined his shirt on the ground.

“You waiting for an invitation, Williamson? Get moving.” Micah's eyes remained fixed on Arthur, the man had gotten more tense, looked like he was ready to lunge at Bill.

Bill appeared puzzled. Micah was being vague about everything and it frustrated him. Did he expect him to read his mind? If he wanted him to wash Morgan's clothes he could fuck off and do it himself. He didn't come here to do a woman's job, he didn't even want to be here at all. Still, the smell, it was bad, moldy, sickly, death, it all lingered in the air. Being outside would be much nicer. In hindsight he'd gladly toil around in a river with dirty clothes, anything to get away from this place. But then there was Arthur, naked Arthur. Fuck. He'd never seen the man naked from the waist down, had no idea he was so well... built. When did it get so hot in here? He found himself to be even more attracted to Arthur; now that he knew they had a shared interest in men. If things were different he would have gladly offered himself up to him. Not that he'd ever be brave enough to ask.

“Chain him up you idiot, like I said, we ain't got all day and I'm not keeping a gun on him if I don't have to, ain't good for the arm.”

Arthur's head turned to his left, then right. He stood between two wooden beams, large metal rings bolted against each of them. Chain's ran through them on each side with shackles at the end of each. The first set of rings hung higher than his head, the second was down near the ground. Whoever had to suffer from these would be uncomfortably spread and be at the mercy of their captors. He didn't want to find out, hell no. 

Arthur took a step backwards, no longer in between the beams. “You stay the hell away from me," he raised his finger at Bill to stop him. “I'll sit down, we can talk about whatever you want and go back, you ain't putting tho-.” He flinched when a shot rang out, his arm's flew up to his face in a protective manner. The gunshot had been painfully loud in this enclosed space. It had sent some dirt flying as the bullet landed dangerously close to his bare feet. 

“Dammit Micah!” Bill had been equally as startled.

He cocked the hammer back again. “Next one goes in your leg. Mr Williamson,” he nodded at him to proceed.

Arthur swallowed hard. Being naked in front of them was one thing, being chained up and naked, that was a whole different situation. One he didn't want to be in, especially not around a man he just tried to kill. At least it was the other one who seemed to have more authority, though he didn't seem more reasonable, less so even. Cowpoke. The first time he heard it, it had given him a flashback to a forgotten memory, but nothing clear. If it was a common phrase of his then it was likely he had just heard it in passing. Especially now that it was obvious that he had roamed around with them before all this. But why him, why had he sparked a form of recognition? Micah didn't seem like the type of man he'd ever befriend, quite the opposite.

The drunkard had pulled him forward, back in between the beams. He could grab him, use him as a shield, but he was a big man, maneuvering him up a flight of stairs would be impossible. If he let go of his human shield before being out of sight he'd surely get shot. A shackle closed around his left wrist, it was raised almost level with his head. What could he do with only one arm? Break his neck, he could manage that, with a free hand he could still unlock the shackle. But that took time, more time than a bullet needed to travel, he sighed. Every option would lead to a bullet in his body, lethal or otherwise. 

Click. The sound signaled that he now lost the ability to use his right arm. The locking mechanism would be impossible to reach without a free hand. Both his arms were now uncomfortably stretched as he stood there. Cold metal embraced his ankle as soon as the man crouched down beside him. He should still fight, protest, resist, his body screamed at him to do so. But he heard a few women threatening Micah back at camp, to not hurt him. They were doing this to intimidate him, to scare him in to compliance. Right? He grunted when his right leg was forced to move outwards. As soon as he heard the click of the last lock he felt extremely vulnerable, spread out as he was, naked. He should have risked getting shot, shit.

“Much better,” Micah holstered his gun and set his hat down on top of a barrel behind him. He walked along the wall furthest away from the entrance, alongside a large rack. On it was a collection of canes, bullwhips and other painful looking tools for torture. Micah's attention fell on a particularly thin and flexible looking stick. He examined it in his hands, the stick was about two feet long. He swung it a few times at nothing, the whooshing sound it made left a grin on his face. 

Bill said nothing, like Arthur he was convinced that Micah was just trying to scare the man. They'd done this many times before, on Kieran not too long ago, with their gelding tongs. 

“You ever been caned or belted, Morgan? Well I guess you wouldn't remember.” He chuckled, swung the slender stick against one of the wooden beams. Snap! The sound it made upon impact was vicious. He loved it.

Arthur's anxiety grew, he was no longer certain about Micah's intentions. Something about the man's demeanor screamed that this was more than a way to scare him. 

Bill decided to play along, as he always had, he liked the idea of giving Morgan a good scare. He always saw the man as his better, Dutch's favorite, it would be fun to see him piss himself out of fear. If it was even possible to frighten him that much, probably not. No, not Morgan. 

Micah enjoyed reproducing the wooshing sound as he walked over to them, used his foot to shove Arthur's clothes aside. He didn't give a shit about cleaning the man's clothes. Only wanted them off so there would be no blood on them, no visible evidence. “I asked you a question, Morgan.” He spat the name out, something he hadn't done before now. 

“No.” Alarm bells were going off inside Arthur's head, his heart pounded faster with every minute that passed.

Micah tapped the stick against Arthur's bare stomach. Chain's rattled as he watched Morgan's body jerk backwards. The man expected a proper blow, which meant he had to be nervous, good. He barely moved an inch or two when he flinched, stretched out to the limit as he was, it kept him fixed in place. He had forgotten how good it felt to torture this man. Never again would he allow him to interfere with his plans. Micah held the stick out to Bill, “take it.”

Bill accepted it with a smile on his face, swung it around a few times to test it. “Ho ho, I bet this would really sting, huh Morgan?”

“Hit him.”

Arthur's eyes darted between them, not a scare tactic then. Shit.

Bill still smiled as his eyes alternated between Micah and Arthur. Micah's lips were curled downwards, brows up high, he was waiting. Bill's face fell flat when he realized the man was being serious. “You mean... actually hit him?

“He almost killed you, we're teaching him a lesson, get behind him and hit him.”

Bill positioned himself behind Arthur, ready to strike, but he didn't. “Micah, we're not supposed to-”

Micah cut him off. “Pretty words ain't how you convince someone like him to behave, the old man tried that and look what happened to you. A few blows won't kill him, don't be a child Williamson.” 

Snap.

Arthur hissed at the first blow, it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he feared. The man was holding back, he could tell. It surprised him, he was the reason that the man had a hole in his side, and yet he showed mercy. Because they were friends? Had he been reluctant with Noah? Maybe Dutch pushed him, he heard his speeches, could easily imagine him bending people to his will.

“Harder Williamson, show him he chose the wrong man to attack.”

Snap.

“Argh!” He flinched again, this time it stung, shit.

Bill stared at the red welt he left behind on Arthur's back, it made him grimace. This felt wrong, he always enjoyed scaring someone, seeing them cower before him, but torture, that wasn't for him. 

Micah spread his arms, “what are you waiting for?”

“If Dutch and Hosea find out they'll kill us, this ain't right Micah.”

Micah rolled his eyes. “They're not going to find out, I've got it all covered, don't you worry. I bet you Dutch will be happy with how meek he'll be after this.”

“This is fine, he learned his lesson, can we just get him cleaned up? Before they get back to camp.”

“I ain't never seen you so nervy, Bill, we have plenty of time, I know where they went.”

Bill had enough, walked around a beam and held the stick out to Micah. Beating a defenseless Arthur made him sick to his stomach. He needed some fresh air. “I ain't hitting him again.” 

Micah snatched it out of his hand with a scoff. “If you're too yellow to hit him then stick him, that's more up your alley, ain't it?” 

“Sti- what?” Bill frowned at him, feigned being clueless. 

“Don't act innocent, I've known what you are for a long time, Williamson, stick your fingers in him, or your dick if that's what you want, at least enjoy yourself a little.”

Arthur's jaw dropped, they wouldn't. “Hey hold on now.”

“I...” Bill's face flushed, a mix of anger and shame. If Micah knew, then who else did? “I ain't like that!”

“Suuure you ain't. Look, it'll be our little secret” he gave him a nudge in his back, towards Arthur. “Have some fun, I know you'd love to put your hands all over him, so do you.”

He did, yes, Arthur was so damned good looking. It would be the most enjoyable experience, no doubt. But not like this, not when he was chained up like a piece of meat. His dream had always been that Arthur would come to him, want him, explore every inch of his body while he just existed. Not like this. “Stop trying to force me Micah, I ain't going to... It's Arthur!” 

Micah snorted. “I see, so you're the kind of queer who wants to be like a woman.”

He snapped, swung his fist, struck Micah right in the jaw, it had dropped him to the ground in an instant. “You're crazy you know that! You want to do shit like that you do it yourself, I'm going to wash his clothes.” He gathered Arthur's shirt and pants, in a rush to leave, Micah hadn't even managed to stand before he was up the stairs and out. 

The corners of Arthur's lips had upturned, “Ouch.”

Micah rubbed his jaw as he got back to his feet. “Shut up Morgan, do you really think this ain't exactly how I planned it?” Arthur frowned at him, so he continued. “I knew he wouldn't hit you more than once or twice. Just needed his hands on you to make him an accomplice, it'll keep him quiet about this.” A wicked grin appeared on his face. “Calling him out on his funny business, that was so you and me could have some privacy, I knew he'd leave." He walked around until he stood behind Arthur. "Now it'll be like the last time we did this, just me and those delicious screams of yours."

“Last time? What la-”

Snap!

The pain was sharp and sudden. The stick had created a long red line on his lower back, thin lines of blood slithered down his back. He couldn't hold back a scream, as much as he tried. Shit, that hurt, turns out the big man wasn't holding back a little, he had held back a lot.

“Damn, drew blood on my first try.” He laughed, such an effective tool. “Don't remember me do you? The time we spent together right before you lost your memories.”

“Can't picture myself spending time with a slimy piece of shit like you.” Arthur spoke through grit teeth.

Snap.

“Shit.” He hissed, instead of his back, this one struck his rear end, hadn't hurt as much, but enough to sting. Had he tortured him before? He didn't understand, weren't they supposed to be in the same gang? It became harder to think straight, the burning sensation on his back overpowered his thoughts.

“Every time you're disrespectful, you'll get one on the ass.”

Arthur half scoffed, the other half sounded more like a whimper.

“It's a shame really, I wanted you to remember all of it, which is why I figured I'd best be giving you something new to remember me by.” He tapped him on the shoulder with the stick, made sure he was listening. “Start counting. We'll see if you can make it to four without fainting on me.” 

He turned his head to look at him, did the bastard really expect him to count? “I ain't doing shit for you.”

Micah shrugged. “Suit yourself, I'll ask again, every time you refuse, I add an extra hit. So that's five now.”

Shit. Fucking bastard. He would do it too. “I'll count.” He mumbled, barely audible.

“That's more like it.” He aimed for his back again, closer to his shoulder blade.

Snap!

Another cry of pain, he squeezed his eyes shut. This one hurt more than the last, every time he sucked in air, it felt like another fire was lit across his back. He had never experienced pain like this, not even before his memory loss. This would be impossible to forget. “T-two..” 

“No no, the first one was just a test, we started at one, that was one.” He heard a whimper when he said that, truly euphoric.

Snap!

This time his scream came from deep within, guttural, almost a roar. His legs started to shake, fought to hold him upright. Muscles groaned as they had to bare the pain from his frantic struggles against unmovable chains. 

Micah waited a few seconds before he struck him against his ass cheeks, a reminder. “Ain't we forgetting something? The ones against your ass don't count, remember that.”

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. The rest of his body followed his legs and started to shake uncontrollably. “T-two.” His choked sobs made it harder to speak. 

Snap!

Another agonizing cry of pain, he couldn't predict when the blows would come, couldn't brace himself. The pain always came without warning. “T-th-ree...” His voice cracked. Shaking legs failed to support him, his whole weight now hung from his wrists. Arthur's exhales hitched from his efforts to manage the pain. 

“Don't you pass out on me, Morgan, two left.” He tapped the stick against the back of Arthur's left leg. “Come on, put your weight on it.” Micah was unsatisfied with his inability to comply. He smacked the stick against Arthur’s lower leg, which elicited another outcry from his captive. “I said put your weight on it, don't want them wrists bleeding.” 

His whole body shook worse than before. With some effort he got his left leg under him, pushed off on it, that helped him stand on the other as well. Micah appeared in front of him, bastard looked so happy, he hoped it was over. 

“There ya go, you can do as told, small miracles and all that.” Micah hated that he was short on time, just like he was at the old mansion all those weeks ago. He overheard Hosea mention where Dutch and he were off to, so he figured he'd have five or six hours at best. He wanted days of this, weeks, forever if he could. He hated Morgan so much. 

His gaze lowered to Arthur's thighs, the smile on his face widened when he noticed a memory from the past. He tapped the front of Arthur's upper thigh with his trusty stick, against an old scar. “I left that one there, a few weeks ago. Didn't think I'd ever see you again after that, but here we are, like a gift from God.”

Arthur raised his head to look at him, confusion and pain filled his features.

“I know, it pains me too that you don't remember the last time I got to play with you.” He mocked.

“...W-why?”

“Hm?” Micah backhand swung the stick at Arthur's stomach, stopped right before it would touch him. He'd love to paint his front side as well, but injuries on both sides would be harder to hide. He had to make do with pretend hitting the area. For his own amusement.

“W-what did I d-do to you?” His tremors hadn't stopped and the many screams had made his voice hoarse.

He laughed. “You're just a pain in the ass, Morgan, always have been. You play dumb, but-” He tapped the stick against Arthur's temple, “there's a lot more going on in there than you let on.” He moved behind him again, heard more whimpering as he did so. “Always interfering with my plans, watching me with your eagle eyes. I would have gotten that Blackwater money months ago if it weren't for you. Now Dutch doesn't trust me with that information anymore. Because of you.” A pause, “this will be four, in case you forgot.” 

Snap!

Everything around him was muted, he couldn't even tell if he screamed this time. All he heard was his heartbeat pound away in his ears, the bastard behind him was talking, but he couldn't understand him. Small miracles and all that. 

“Moooorgan.”

He opened his eyes, didn't remember when he closed them, found himself staring at the ground. That annoying voice called out his name, must have passed out, bastard was in front of him again. 

“Lost ya for a minute.” Micah took Arthur's chin in his hand and tilted his head upwards. “Need you to say the number for me, don't think you can handle an extra one.”

His mind was a blur. Number? Oh. “F-f-four,” he croaked. His back hurt, it hurt so much he wanted to cry. He fought to get his feet under him, his wrists were angry, and the greasy bastard would probably get angry too. It was difficult to get his legs under him with his arms angled up at his sides. The shaking started again as he strained himself, one leg, then the other, he did it.

“Look at you, soooo strong.” Micah let go of his chin and ruffled his hair.

He closed his eyes when Micah moved behind him again. “D-don't... no more.”

“Yes more.” 

“P-please...” Arthur begged, tears welled up in his eyes, he was terrified.

“Consider yourself lucky that Matthews still gives a shit about you, or this would be much worse.”

Matthews? The name sounded familiar, Colm had mentioned a Matthews all those weeks ago. Hosea Matthews, he had never connected one with the other. Didn't Colm tell him that he died? Shot in Valentine. His mind was fuzzy from the pain, lacked focus. Back when Colm had shared his story he was still knee deep in recovery, he must have heard it wrong. Not that it still mattered. 

Micah tapped the stick against Arthur's shoulder blade. It made the man frantically fight against his chains as he repeated the word no, beautiful. “Ready? Here it cooomes.” He waited, watched as Arthur's body vibrated as a result of how much he tensed up.

Nothing.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, muscles taut in fear of pain which hadn't come. His eyes opened again when he heard laughter. Bastard was toying with him, back in his line of sight too.

“Don't be so sour cowpoke. We need to have a chat first, discuss how things will go from here on out.”

His brows pulled together, it was hard to concentrate on his words, his back felt wet, as did his ass cheeks. He wondered how badly he was bleeding. Arthur's chin rested against his chest, he didn't have the energy or desire to look at Micah.

“To stick with the theme of this place,” his arms waved around. “Once we get back to camp, you're going to be my little slave, do as I say, when I say it.”

Arthur managed to chuckle, but the sound he made was pathetic, filled with exhaustion.

“I know. You're thinking, why the hell would I do that?” He tapped the side of Arthur's head with the stick, “use a little less of that from now on.”

He really wanted to grab that cursed stick and shove it down the bastards throat, anything to shut him up.

“You... are going to do as I say, because if you don't, I'll send your new friend, Kieran, to take your horse out for a run. Then I'll follow him and put a bullet in it, believe me when I'll aim for a spot that'll make her death nice and slow.” Micah knew that Arthur's horse would be good leverage. He hadn't missed how much time the man had spent on fondling it. A stray bullet from a rifle out in the fields, tragic hunting accident, no one would know it was him.

His head jerked up, eyes snapped open, he had to see if Micah was being serious. He was being serious. Chains clanged as he fought against them. Fresh cuts in his back reignited with pain from his strained efforts, he didn't care. He was screaming again, but not out of pain, out of anger. 

Micah closed his eyes, a smile appeared on his face, he leaned back as if he listened to a beautiful song. A slimy glob of spit landed on his face. He hated being spat on, wiped it away with his sleeve, face flushed with anger. His smile changed to a scowl.

He was behind Arthur in an instant. Aimed for his ass cheeks, anger fueled his strength as he swung. “I told you to-” Snap! “Show me some-” Snap! “Respect.” He struck him two more times before he stepped back. Panted as his hand went through his hair, surveying the damage he'd done. “Oh shit, I made a bit of a mess back here.” A loud exhale, the flash of anger was gone.

“You still with me pal?” Micah pulled a face when he saw the nasty mixture of sweat, snot and drool which dripped down Arthur's face. His head had lolled forward, the man still stood on his feet so he hadn't passed out. Arthur mumbled something inaudible, he had to lean in closer before he could make out any words. 

“N-not, p-pals.”

Micah grinned, stepped back. “Gotta say, I admire your never ending supply of defiance.”

Arthur exhaled loudly, his back went from being on fire to a stinging after-pain, his rear end experienced the same discomforts. Arthur's energy drained fast, unsure how long he could still hold himself up for. He'd stop caring soon. 

Micah needed to be sure he had his attention. “Look at me.” He grabbed a handful of Arthur's hair and pulled his head up, his pupils were constricted, his eyes bloodshot. “I'm going to let go and you're going to hold your head up, or else...” He reached past Arthur and tapped the stick against his rear end. It made the man sob and flinch, but he nodded to the best of his ability while Micah held on to his hair. 

“Good.” Micah released him, started pacing, he glanced back to see if Arthur had done as told, smiled as the man's head had remained upright.

“As I was saying, you'll be doing what I want, when I want. Without question, this starts now. You will not tell anyone about our time here, especially not Hosea. We'll cover the details of that later. Is that clear or do I leave you hanging here while I go take care of your horse?

Arthur swallowed deeply, he wanted to use what little energy he had left to curse him until the end of time. But his horse was one of the few real memories he had left. He even recalled the day he tamed her while he brushed her shiny white coat a few hours ago. He'd find a way to kill this snake later, for now he had to make sure she'd be safe from him. “Clear.” The word no more than a whisper. 

“Oh, and you'll be calling me Mr. Bell from now on.” He snickered.

“Micah!”

Micah turned around to face the entrance when Bill called out for him. To his surprise Bill wasn't the face which greeted him, it was Kieran. The man stumbled down the stairs as Bill gave him a powerful shove. He had failed to regain his balance and landed on the ground with a loud thud. 

When Bill descended the steps behind him, Kieran had scrambled backwards. His eyes widened when a wall stopped his attempt to distance himself from Bill. He pressed his back against it, was out of breath and shook like a leaf.

“What the hell Bill?!” Micah was baffled. He didn't like surprises, they had a tendency to mess with plans.

“Caught him sneaking around upstairs on my way back. What was I supposed to do?”

“You cau-, and you bring him down here?!” Micah's face turned red, his voice increased in volume. “So your best idea was to bring him down here?! You really are as dumb as you look.” 

“Fuck you Micah, what if he heard things? You and you're fucking sick ga-.” Bill hadn't paid any attention to Arthur until now, hadn't seen the dark stain in the dirt directly below the man. “Jesus fuck, what did you do? I said you was crazy!” He hurried over to Arthur.

Micah had no time for Bill's complaints, Kieran presented a new problem to him. Not a big one, a dead O'Driscoll would be easier to explain than a dead Arthur. Much easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. 6k words of poorly written whump. Yep. Sorry.  
> Scene isn't even over yet, just had to cut it short due to length. xD  
> Unless it's too much? I could time skip...
> 
> Love you all <3 Thanks for reading as always, and thanks for the comments, it's a pleasure to read them all!


	22. Chapter 22

Micah backhanded Kieran's face before he asked a single question, he had no intention to take it slow with this man. “What were you doing out here O'Driscoll?” 

“I w-was out f-fishing.” Kieran struggled to get the words out, kept his back firmly pressed against the wall.

“So you went out to fish, decided to stray far away from the roads and then just got curious about some old shack, for no reason whatsoever?” Micah scoffed.

“N-no, it ain't like that!”

Micah kicked him against his side. “Stop lying!”

Kieran grunted, wrapped his arms around himself for protection against future blows.

“Micah! You can't leave Arthur like this, Hosea is going to kill you.”

Micah spun around to face Bill and Arthur. “I think you mean _us_ , Williamson.”

“I didn't fucking do this.”

“Really?! Because I clearly remember you swinging this at him as well.” Micah held the stick up for Bill to see. 

“Not as hard as you have been.” Bill almost pouted as he said that.

“You think Hosea will give a shit? Think he can tell who did what? Do you?!” Micah swung the stick, hit Arthur against his stomach. Kieran's presence was a surprise, he hated surprises whenever he had a perfect plan. It made him angrier by the second, he struggled to control it.

Arthur cried out, not as loud as before, he had no energy left to reflect the pain he experienced with sound. The welt against his stomach had stung a hundred times more than those against his back. He couldn't do more than sob as his legs failed to hold him up.

“How about that one? Do we tell the old man that was yours?” Micah pointed at the fresh cut he had made.

Bill raised his hands. “Stop! I get it, okay? I won't be saying anything, just stop before you kill him.”

Snap! The stick impacted against the side of Arthur's leg. “Didn't I tell you to keep standing?”

Arthur groaned, everything around him sounded muffled again. His brain knew what the painful blow against his leg meant, he had to stand up. If only he could. Another blow, same leg. He barely flinched. Pain in his shoulders from his sagged body made his eyes fill with water. He could feel hands on his arms, they pushed up, lifted him, helped him get his feet planted on the ground. Arthur's leg muscles strained to keep him standing, the threat of more pain was to motivate him, for now. 

Bill pulled back from Arthur now that he seemed stable. “There, you can stop hitting him now, you've lost it Micah.”

Micah stared at Bill, turned and kicked a nearby barrel with the bottom of his foot, he hollered at it. Micah turned his head to Kieran, stomped towards him and grabbed him by the collar. Kieran pleaded with him, repeated the words no and please over and over as he was dragged across the floor by Micah. He let go of him in front of Arthur, far away from the stairs. “Where did you hitch your horse?” Micah slapped the back of his head when he hadn't responded. “Answer me, O'Driscoll.” 

Kieran pointed a shaking finger at the stairs, to get his bearings. “W-west in t-tree l-line.”

“Do you have medicine in your saddlebag?” Micah asked.

Kieran didn't respond, had his arms wrapped around himself. A boot impacted with his back, jolted him and made him grunt in pain. “Y-yes!” 

“Bill, get his horse and the medicine, bring your satchel too, and some shotgun shells.” Micah took a deep breath when Bill seemed hesitant, he was sick of having to repeat himself. “Williamson, do you want to get him fixed up or not?!” He nodded towards Arthur. 

“'Course I do, but-” Bill cut himself off, looked away when Micah glared at him. Micah seemed unhinged, better not test his patience further. Bill nodded and hurried up the stairs.” 

Micah noticed the bleeding cut he left on Arthur's stomach. “Shit, look what you made me do, O'Driscoll.” 

“Im not an O-” He flinched when Micah grabbed the back of his collar, the man lifted him to his knees and pressed his face against Arthur's bleeding stomach wound.

Arthur's cruel restraints kept him rigid and immobile while Kieran's cheek was being rubbed against his body. At first he hissed, then he cried out as the pain got worse. His own blood smeared across his stomach and Kieran's face.

Kieran crawled backwards when Micah let go off him. Curled up into a ball to protect himself as he trembled on the ground. 

“You were saying, Duffy?” Micah was about to hit him again when Arthur mumbled something, he turned to face him. “Got something to say, _Morgan_?”

“He... he ain't an O'Driscoll.” Arthur used what little energy he had left to speak, hoped to get Micah's attention back on him. Away from Kieran, man seemed terrified, he pitied him. Arthur would have laughed if he had the energy, if he wasn't in so much pain. Once more he felt sorry for someone he hardly knew, like he had with Noah, he must be the worst outlaw ever.

Micah's eyes alternated between Arthur and Kieran. The corner of his mouth went up, made a mental note of Arthur's protectiveness. “Interesting, that reminds me,” he used the stick to tap Arthur's shoulder. “We have one left.”

Arthur's breathing increased as soon as Micah moved behind him. Air pushed out of his lungs fast enough to send bits of spittle flying. 

Micah searched for an untouched spot on Arthur's back. “What do you think Duffy? Upper or lower back.”

Kieran raised his head, mouth agape, both he and Arthur stared at each other. “W-wha?”

“You heard me, you either pick one or I hit him twice.”

Kieran's lips trembled, he didn't know what to do, which area would hurt the least for Arthur. He was afraid to answer, afraid he'd chose the wrong one. Arthur nodded at him, there was a hint of a smile on the man's face. Kieran understood, it was Arthur's way of telling him it was okay. “L-lower.”

Snap!

Micah had struck him across the shoulder blade, not that Kieran could tell from his position. He was about to add a sixth strike when Arthur mumbled the word five between his pained sobs. Micah was surprised, he needed this to feel better after his earlier outburst.

Bill thundered down the steps, a satchel in his each hand, held them up for Micah to see. “Got 'em.”

Micah walked around and took each of them in one hand, dropped them in Kieran's lap, which had startled the man. “Since you seem to be so concerned for Morgan, you'll be tending to his wounds, get started.”

Kieran scrambled to his feet, held on to the satchels as he moved behind Arthur, he froze, face a ghostly white. Arthur's whole back was red, there was so much blood he couldn't tell where a welt started or ended. Some of the cuts had split his skin open, fat protruded from them. The cuts on his rear end were less severe, some still bled all the way down to his legs, which also had a few welts on them. Kieran stepped back, the satchels fell out of his hands. He turned around and doubled over, emptied the contents of his stomach on the ground.

Micah's laughter expressed his amusement to everyone in the room. He grabbed a fistful of Arthur's hair, lifted his head. “Open up.”

Arthur's eyelids were half closed, he glanced up at Micah, his mind failed to process the spoken words. Micah had grabbed his jaw between his thumb and index finger. Arthur let out a choked gasp as the man pried his mouth open. He groaned in protest when Micah forced the stupid stick between his teeth.

“Bite down.” He waited for Arthur to do as told before he continued. “You drop that, I hit you with it, got it?”

Arthur nodded, tasted his own blood on the stick. He had to resist the urge to vomit himself, Kieran's gagging noises behind him weren't helping. 

Micah released his grip on Arthur, ruffled his hair again, he loved doing that. “You done back there O'Driscoll? Get to work.”

Kieran was still doubled over, his stomach as good as empty. He opened his eyes, grimaced at his own mess. He was tasked to help Arthur, but he wasted time because he couldn't handle a few injuries. Kieran cursed at his own weakness, took a few deep breaths, he had to be brave for Arthur. He concentrated on using what he knew about horse injuries, so he could apply it to Arthur. He retrieved what he thought he'd need to disinfect and clean the wounds from the satchels on the ground. Kieran gagged when his eyes were back on the wounds, he bit back the urge to throw up again, got to work. 

~~~

Dutch puffed his cigar, Hosea and he never got around to fishing. They'd been sitting at the edge of the pond for close to two hours, reminiscing about the past, about better times. 

“...which is how I ended up naked as the day I was born, with nothing but a saddlebag to cover myself up.” Hosea said, he joined Dutch's laughter with his own.

“I remember the look on Arthur's young face when you arrived at camp that day, priceless.” Dutch mused.

Hosea sighed deeply. “Those were the days.”

Dutch fell silent, poured another drink for Hosea and himself. “That's all I want old friend, for things to be as they was during those days. All of us, together as a family.”

Hosea reached for his glass. “Circumstances can change things, like they have for Arthur.”

“You believe this whole memory loss thing, then?”

“Of course I do, that boy is many things but a good con-man was never one of them.”

“Hm.” Dutch lowered his head, stared at the cigar between his fingers.

“He didn't betray you Dutch, you need to get that out of your head.”

“He favors Colm.”

“Nonsense, he made a friend, that's all.”

Dutch scoffed. “ A _friend_.”

“Don't be like that, we ain't never been like that, so don't start now, Arthur has the right to like whoever he wants in whatever way he wants.” Hosea leaned forward in his seat, rested his elbows on his thighs.

“His new... interest stole him away from me, from us.”

“If you're looking to blame someone, blame yourself.”

Dutch turned his head to Hosea, mouth half open, brows raised.

Hosea stared at Dutch. “Don't give me that look, I warned you that the meeting with Colm was a trap, didn't I? You went anyways, you chose to listen to Micah of all people.”

“I...” Dutch trailed off, had to look away, he blamed himself many times for this exact thing. He knew there was nothing he could say to justify his decision.

Hosea leaned back. “As much as it pains me to say this, I think it's best to let him go where he wants.”

“You mean cut him lose?” 

Hosea paused. “Yes.” The word made his voice crack, made him clear his throat. “He's not our son anymore, he's a new man, he deserves a fresh start.”

“I doubt the Pinkertons or any bounty hunters will see it that way, he needs us.” Dutch took one last puff before he discarded his cigar.

“No Dutch, you need him. He doesn't need you, or any of us.”

“We all need him, you've seen what has happened to us, how demoralized everyone has become, I've tried Hosea, I've tried to keep everyone together but it ain't the same without Arthur by my side.”

“We'll have to make do.” A heavy sigh left Hosea's lips.

“So you'd allow our entire family to break apart for the sake of one man?”

“I'd give the world, my life, for Arthur. There was a time when you'd do the same.”

Dutch rose to his feet, pointed his finger at Hosea. “I love that boy, like he were my own.”

“You hit him Dutch, that's not exactly how one expresses love.”

Dutch's shoulders sagged. “I... I lost control, and it pains me deeply.”

“Have you even bothered to apologize to him?”

Dutch turned around to face the pond in front of them, crossed his hands behind his back. “He was being disrespectful and needed to be reprimanded.”

Hosea stood up as well. “You see! That's the real Dutch Van der Linde right there, the man who says he was wrong but never really believes it.”

Dutch tilted his head towards Hosea. “So you'd have me send him on his way and wait around until he decides to come back for revenge?” 

“If you let him go with your blessing he'll see things differently.”

Dutch's gaze returned to the treeline ahead. “You don't know that.”

“I know Arthur.” Hosea paused, had to correct himself. “Knew... Arthur, he may not remember us but deep inside he's still the same man, I don't doubt that.”

Dutch snorted. “Doubt...”

Hosea let out a frustrated sigh. “Don't start this again.”

“Am I to be silenced by you Mr. Matthews? Do you disapprove of my methods whenever you openly doubt me?” He turned to face Hosea, pointed at himself. “I have done _everything_ I can to keep the money flowing, to keep folk happy. While you have done _nothing_ in the last month but doubt me.”

Hosea struggled to keep his voice under control. “How dare you! I've been out there for days at a time searching for Arthur, all you've been doing is killing more and more innocent folk." Hosea paused to cough. "You've been doing nothing but going against your own damned code!” 

Dutch's nostrils widened with every breath he took. His mouth opened, closed again. “We are done here.” He turned around, went straight for his horse, didn't glance back as he mounted up and rode off.

Hosea stared down at his shaking hands and sighed deeply. “Dammit!”

~~~

Bill tilted his head upwards, evening had rolled in. He patted his horse on the neck, sighed as he was desperate for a drink, already planned to do a lot of that tonight. He couldn't stay down in that cellar for another second. The stench which already lingered in the air, the added smell of Arthur's blood and sweat, Kieran's vomit, it was too much for him. 

Micah shuffled forward and hopped off the barrel he'd been sitting on. “You almost done O'Driscoll or do you need some extra motivation?”

Kieran cringed at his words. “I-I've stopped all the bleeding, b-but I ain't got enough thread for the l-large cut on his back.”

Micah joined him behind Arthur. He nodded, satisfied to see all the blood gone and nothing fresh ooze out of any wounds. 

Arthur let out a muffled groan when a hand slapped his ass cheek, it reignited the burning sensation from before. As much as he struggled to keep Micah's stick between his teeth he was also grateful to have it there. Kieran had been careful to not hurt him, but it was impossible to avoid, at least he had something to bite down on. 

Micah smiled at Arthur's reaction, he snatched Bill's satchel from Kieran's shoulder. “Come here.” He grabbed Kieran by his jacket, dragged him off to a corner, shoved him against the wall. “Stay there, you move I kill you.”

Kieran nodded, watched as Micah dug around in the satchel, pulled out a shotgun shell and removed the cap.

“Just so you know Morgan, this is going to hurt a lot, be sure to scream for me, ain't nothing sweeter to listen to.”

Arthur wanted to turn his head to see what the bastard was doing, lacked strength to do so. He hissed when something irritated his open cut. Arthur gasped and his eyes widened when he heard a match being lit. “No... please.” Arthur continuously begged, every word sounded garbled as he had to speak over the stick. He jerked and pulled against the chains as he frantically tried to get away. He knew what was coming.

Micah had enjoyed his pathetic cries for mercy so much that the match in his hands had gone out. He lit another, brought it up to the wound and lit the powder he had poured inside of it. 

Kieran covered his ears when Arthur screamed. It was the loudest most gut wrenching cry he'd ever heard from a man. His hand went to his mouth, covered it, he tried to not vomit.

Micah hummed as he took a few slow steps to Arthur's front side.

Bill came down the steps, heard the loud scream from outside and had to investigate. “What happened?”

“Cauterized a wound.” Micah lowered his head, lips twitched when he saw the stick on the ground. “Oh ooow, seems you fucked up Morgan.” He bent over, picked up his favorite new tool for torture. “You failed to follow a simple order, good for me, bad for you.” He smirked when Arthur started to sob, raised his hand, ready to strike. A larger hand wrapped around his wrist, stopped him, he tilted his head at Bill.

“He's had enough Micah, it's almost dark outside, we should get going.” Bill snarled, tightened his grip on Micah's wrist.

Micah was startled by his change in demeanor, forced a faked smile. “Of course.” He stepped back when Bill released him. “I'll let you do the honors.” He bowed, extended both his arms towards Arthur.

Bill checked to see if Arthur was conscious. “Morgan?” He got no response so he unlocked the shackle on Arthur's right wrist. Arthur's body smacked against the wooden beam on his left, his right arm dangled at his side.

Arthur's eyes shot open, his mouth agape as repeated pained sobs escaped from his throat. It felt like his left shoulder was being ripped out of it's socket. His right leg was being stretched to it's limit, he feared he tore a few muscles in it. Arthur's left knee was now suspended above the ground, his weak attempts to stand proved useless. His eyes rolled back and his head lolled forward when the combined pain from all his limbs and wounds overwhelmed his senses.

“Shit!” Bill cursed at his mistake, realized he should have approached this with more care. His eyes narrowed when he heard Micah chuckle behind him and whistle as he headed up the steps. 

“Don't just stand there O'Driscoll, give me a hand here.” With Kieran's help, Billl managed to free Arthur without further incident. They carefully carried him up the stairs, where they both struggled to get him dressed. 

Micah sat on his horse as he watched the two men work to get the damp clothes on Arthur's body. “Finally, good job ladies, he'll be riding with you O'Driscoll.”

The trio rode back to camp, Micah hadn't bothered to restrain Arthur. He deemed it impossible that the man would have any leftover energy to fight.

Kieran struggled to stay balanced on his horse. Arthur leaned heavily against him, he worried that the man would fall off the side. Kieran shifted in his saddle when Micah rode up next to him. 

“Remember O'Driscoll, not a word or I'll cut you open and feed your own guts to ya.” Micah hadn't looked at him, focused on the road ahead, he was in a hurry to get back. He worried that Dutch and Hosea would have returned sooner than expected. Arthur's weak state would surely attract their attention. The rest of the camp hadn't concerned him. At this late hour it wouldn't be difficult to avoid the busier area, which would be the campfire. He shouldn't encounter any problems to get Morgan ready for the night in a more secluded spot. The tree next to his tent would be a good place. If he left his tent flap open he could enjoy the sight of Morgan suffering all night. Perfect, he smiled and took a deep breath, what a great day it had been.

Micah's eyes were on the hitching posts as soon as he'd announced himself to Lenny. No sign of the horses he searched for, he breathed a sigh of relief, they had threaded the needle. Bill helped him carry Arthur towards his tent. Micah leaned in closer and whispered in to Arthur's ear. “Remember, you say nothing about or fun times, or else the horse gets it.” Micah thought they had avoided everyone until Abigail stormed up to them. 

“What happened to him? You've been gone for hours.” She ignored Micah, stared at Bill.

“Uuuh.” Bill swallowed deeply, he downcast his eyes.

“We did exactly what we said we would.” Micah interjected. “Just ended up talking a bit longer than planned is all.”

Abigail pursed her lips, decided to address the source. “Arthur, are you okay?”

Arthur wanted to raise his head, couldn't. His eyes were half opened while he concentrated on setting one foot down in front of the other. He clenched his jaw when he felt Micah's hand apply pressure on his lower back, “'m fine.” He said through grit teeth.

Abigail frowned at him, didn't seem convinced. She opened her mouth to speak but Micah cut her off before she got the chance.

“Arthur is tired, needs to rest, why don't you come back 'n talk to him once we get him settled. Is that okay with you, sweetheart?”

Abigail huffed at him. “Fine.” She took a step towards Micah and waved her finger at him. “If I find as much as a scratch on him...”

“Sure sure.” Micah dropped the ropes he'd been holding, set Arthur down against the tree he had in mind with Bill's help.

Bill grimaced when Arthur hissed as they sat him down on his ass, the man had shifted immediately to sit on his knees. “I need a drink.” Bill left, couldn't watch, figured Micah could handle it. He had enough for today and it was time to forget everything he'd seen.

“Sit on your ass.” Micah kept his voice low, already started to loop some rope around one of Arthur's wrists. When Arthur shook his head at him, he glanced around, leaned in and whispered. “Do as I say, don't forget you're my slave now, or should I take you back to where slaves are kept?” 

Arthur whimpered, shifted his legs around until he sat on his ass. He was careful to not touch the tree with his back, his shirt alone caused him pain as it rubbed against his abused skin. A throbbing pain when he sat down made him hiss. He then used his hands to lift himself a few inches off the ground, kept his ass elevated as well as he could. His arms trembled, they lacked the strength he needed to stay like this. He yelped when his left arm was forced behind him. Micah had pulled on the rope, it dragged his arm behind him until it hugged the tree. He shifted a bit, still managed to keep his ass cheeks away from more pain.

Micah walked around the back of the tree, grabbed Arthur's right wrist and looped more rope around that one. He pulled it tight, this forced Arthur's back against the tree. The man cried out, Micah hurried to cover Arthur's mouth with his hand. “Ssshhh-shhh, keep it down or I'll shove so much shit in your mouth, it'll break your jaw.” Micah's eyes darted around the camp, no one came their way so he proceeded. 

Micah looped another few lengths of rope around the tree and Arthur's waist, used his foot for leverage so he could tighten it as much as possible. 

Arthur had made more noise but kept his lips pressed together, tried to be as quiet as he could. Every inch of his back and ass felt like they were on fire, salty sweat made contact with fresh cuts, it was agony.

Micah looped two lengths around Arthur's neck and the tree, not tight enough to strangle him. It's purpose was to keep his injured shoulder blades firmly pressed against the tree. He had to cover Arthur's mouth again when the man was unable to hold back his strangled sobs. Temptation got the better of him, with one hand over Arthur's mouth he used the other to pinch his nose shut. 

Arthur's panic filled eyes stared at Micah, he tried to struggle, tried to pull on his ropes. The ones around his neck held him back the most, the slightest forward motion made them dig into his throat. He was strangling himself as Micah robbed him from the ability breathe. His legs dug around over the ground, Micah straddled him, further reduced the noise he could make. 

The terror in Arthur's eyes had pulled Micah into a trance. Three, maybe four more minutes and he'd be dead, never again would he be a nuisance. He could feel that Arthur's legs stopped moving around as much as they had, between his own. It was almost over, the man hardly had any fight left in him. Micah jumped when someone called out Dutch's name, within seconds he heard a horse, Dutch's voice too. Micah let go of Arthur's nose and mouth. He granted him one deep inhale before he covered his mouth up again, his free hand held a finger against his own lips. “Ssshhh,” Micah waited, listened. The tree they were at was behind Dutch's tent, his hope was that Dutch would retreat inside, to his relief, he did. He waited a bit longer, listened for the sound of another horse, nothing. Their little trip must not have gone as well as his, Micah smirked.

Micah hurried off to grab two pieces off cloth from a nearby wagon. He used one to wipe the sweat off his own and then Arthur's forehead. Micah used that same piece of cloth to pack Arthur's mouth until he could fit no more. He tied it off with the other, tight enough to make it dig into the corners of the man's mouth.

“All settled.” Micah paused to ruffle Arthur's hair and whispered close to his ear. “Shame on you for tempting me to kill ya, would have gotten me in some serious trouble.” He forced Arthur's chin up until their eyes met, his voice still a whisper. “You won't let anyone untie you or remove the gag until I say so, I'll be watching from over there.” He tilted his head towards his tent. Micah's lips upturned, “remember when I told you this morning that I'd make sure you won't sleep in that bed?” He sneered, patted Arthur's cheek and got up, walked to the front of Dutch's tent, cleared his throat. “Boss, sorry to disturb you but we need to talk, it's urgent.”

Arthur closed his eyes after Micah left, he couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the tears which rolled down his cheeks. The pain was too much for him, he wished he would pass out, considered strangling himself on the rope until he did. Anything to escape this pain. Micah's last words still resonated in his head. He couldn't help but think that everything had been an elaborate scheme to keep him tied up for the night. Far away from the bed Hosea had given to him. Was the bastard that vindictive? 

Hosea pulled on the reins of his horse, slowed it down. The night sky and lack of moonlight offered him very little visibility between the trees. The campfire flickered in the distance, helped him guide his way through. “It's me!” he shouted preemptively.

Lenny greeted him. “Welcome back.”

“Is Dutch back?”

Lenny walked next to him towards the hitching posts. “Yeah, thirty minutes or so ago, I think he's in his tent.”

“How has Arthur been?” Hosea groaned when he threw his leg over the saddle, he was stiff from the long ride. “Lenny?”

Lenny sighed, informed him of the incident with Bill, how he heard all about it from Sean.

Hosea's eyes darted around, it was dark at the outskirts of camp, at first glance, he couldn't find Arthur. “Where is he?”

Lenny set his rifle down, his shift was over. “Uh, Bill and Micah took him towards Dutch's tent somewhere.”

“Thank you my boy.” Hosea patted Lenny on his shoulders. “Arthur?!” Hosea shouted his name before he even got to Dutch's tent.

Bill shrank when Hosea's voice echoed through the camp. More drinks, he needed a lot more.

Hosea stormed into Dutch's tent, frowned when he only saw Dutch and Micah. “Where is he?!”

Dutch stood up from his cot, raised his hands at Hosea. “Calm down Hosea, he's fine.”

“Where is he?! Arthur?!” Hosea leaned rested his hand against the tent's support, the anxiety and his raised voice made him cough violently.

“Looking healthy as always.” Micah quipped.

Dutch glared at Micah, who raised his hands at him.”

“Tell me.” Hosea wheezed at every breath.

Micah stood up, neatly placed the chair back where it first stood, took his time to do so. “Morgan's right over here.” He stepped outside, stretched his arms out in Arthur's direction.

Hosea pushed passed him. “Arthur!” He knelt down next to him, gave his body another reason to hate him, but he didn't care. “Son, did those bastards hurt you?”

Arthur raised his head, his sweat covered body remained obscured by dark shadows.

“Why the hell...” Hosea reached behind Arthur to untie his gag.

Arthur's eyes were on Micah, who stood behind Hosea. The light from Dutch's tent illuminated half his face and Arthur could see he was subtly shaking his head. Arthur jerked his head to his right, which kept the knot from his gag away from Hosea's hand. The rope burned against his neck as he'd done so, he moaned at the pain. More pain. He shook his head at Hosea.

Hosea's eyes went dark. He got to his feet and turned around. “What did you do to him?”

Micah pointed at himself, brows raised, he then raised his arms at Hosea. “I had to tie him up.”

Dutch walked around the corner and stood next to Micah.

“Did you threaten him? Hurt him? Why is he refusing to be freed?!” Hosea fought against his lungs, suppressed a cough.

“It's called repenting, old feller, Morgan knows he did wrong.” Micah's hands idled on his gun belt.

“Don't give me that shit, Micah, I know you're behind this.”

Dutch spoke up. “Bill is fine by the way, it's good to see your concern is divided equally between the members of our family.

“That fool brought this on himself when he ran his mouth, where is he anyways?” Hosea walked past Micah and Dutch. “Williamson, get your lazy ass over here!”

“Shit.” Bill stumbled when he got to his feet, took another swig from his drink.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an early job for Mr. Strauss so I'd like to get some rest.”

Hosea pointed at him. “You stay right there Micah, I ain't done with you yet.”

“You _are_ done with him, Hosea. The man needs to work, he doesn't have time for your tantrums.” Dutch waved Micah away.

Dutch was too dismissive about this, Hosea frowned at him. “Was it you? Did you threaten that boy?”

Dutch narrowed his eyes, he didn't take kindly to blind accusations. “If I had I would have told you.”

Hosea dismissively waved at him. “I'm going to untie him.”

“You will do no such thing, he stabbed Bill, let him cool down, we'll discuss it first thing in the morning, you have my word.” Dutch rested his hand on Hosea's shoulder.

“Then I'm going to see if he's injured, you're a fool for trusting everything Micah tells you.”

“I'm right here old man, can hear you just fine.” Micah sat on his cot, already removed his boots.

Hosea turned his head to him. “I don't give a damn!”

“Hosea... please.” Dutch guided him over to Arthur. “Arthur, son, are you hurt?”

Micah unholstered his gun, aimed it in the direction of the horses, his tent was towards Arthur's front right, so he knew Morgan could see him.

Yes he was, God he was in so much pain. Arthur sighed when he glanced in Micah's direction, the metal of his gun's barrel was impossible to mistake for something else. He shook his head at Dutch and Hosea.

Dutch continued. “Do you regret that you attacked Bill?”

He regrets that he failed to finish him off. Arthur nodded at them.

Dutch threw his arm around Hosea's shoulder. “You see old friend, is your mind at ease now?”

“No, Micah did something to him, I'd bet my life on it.”

Careful what you wish for old man. Micah grinned, removed his gun belt, set it down on the table next to him.

Dutch guided Hosea towards his bedroll. “Everyone is tired old friend, Arthur, you, me, all them folk that been working, they need rest. We'll gather everyone involved in the morning and get to the bottom of this, please.”

Hosea let out a deep sigh. Dutch was right, he was tired, exhausted even. It was selfish of him to yell at this time, when other hard working folk tried to rest. At least if he knew where Arthur would be for the night, he would have one less worry on his mind. “First thing in the morning.”

“You have my word.” Dutch gave him a pat on his back, retreated to his own tent and closed the flaps.

When everything quieted down, Micah couldn't resist, snaked his way over to Arthur. “You did good, cowpoke.” He whispered. “I'm excited for tomorrow, I can tell you are too.” He ruffled Arthur's hair. “Get some sleep, if you can.” Micah snickered on his way back to his tent, tomorrow couldn't come fast enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More whump, very little plot pushing. I'm sorry, my cravings have been satisfied now. Next one will move things forward!
> 
> Thank you for reading as always, comments are always loved and appreciated!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains minor sexual assault.

All activity had quieted down in the camp, Dutch's tent light had gone out some time ago. Arthur guessed only two or three people at best were still awake in the distance. Micah had been lying down in his cot but left not too long ago. From his position between Dutch's tent and some more trees, Arthur couldn't see anything inside the camp. He had no idea what the greasy bastard was up to. 

Arthur found that he could pull his legs up to his chest and shift his weight around. It allowed him to elevate one side of his butt off the ground for as long as he could hold it. At least it relieved some of the pain, he couldn't say the same about his back. Micah's tight rope work pressed him so hard against the tree; it had renewed the agony of every single cut as if he'd just received them.

Arthur knew someone came up from behind, heard them walk, when a hand tousled his hair. The humiliating gesture already told him who it was. He could feel the bastards breath on his ear, heard his annoying voice whisper to him.

“Thought I'd arrange something for you, half-man. Play along, remember why you're doing as told.”

When Micah took a step towards his tent, Arthur couldn't resist hooking his leg around one of his. He watched the man stumble, fail to catch himself and land on his hands and knees. Take that you piece of shit. He was certain the sadistic bastard wouldn't do anything harsh over being tripped, not to Artemis at least. There was no way he'd throw a punch or do anything noisy either, so he figured he'd take the free shot at him. It was worth it. 

It was too dark to see his face, but Arthur guessed he was pissed off. He frowned when Micah disappeared behind him, felt the rope around his neck loosen. Shit. Would he go through the effort to take him somewhere else so he could beat him? He got his answer when the rope tightened again, more so than before. A strangled grunt barely made it past all the cloth in his mouth. Arthur realized he was stupid to challenge the most vindictive person to ever live. He felt a light slap against his cheek and saw Micah walk away. He had to gulp every time he swallowed, this was going to be a long night.

Not long after the incident with Micah, Arthur heard heavy footsteps approach from behind, some mumbling, a burp, then a curse. He recognized the voice now, it was the drunkard, Bill. The man appeared in front of him now, unsteady on his feet, almost in his face, smelled of nothing but whiskey. 

“Hey, M-Morgan, 'm really sorry for earlier.” Bill spoke quietly, hadn't quite managed to whisper, convinced that he had though.

He was told to play along, didn't understand why. Was this man desperate for forgiveness? why would Micah care, didn't seem like the type to care for anyone but himself. Arthur's brows pulled together.

“Lemme just... lemme-,” Bill used his hands to spread Arthur's legs out so he could kneel in between them. His nose now almost rubbed against Arthur's, as did his stench. “'Kay, now w- now we can talk.” He slurred.

Arthur took a deep breath through his nose, wanted him to shut up and go away. The last time they talked while he was drunk, things had gone very wrong. At least he couldn't attack him now. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. 

“Y'know, Micah said you looked real nice i-in the moonlight, weren't lying.” Bill fumbled with the top two button's on Arthur shirt. 

Bad.

“Been wantin' you for s-so long Arthur, you-” Bill paused to chuckle, “you's so damned good looking.” His hand slipped underneath Arthur's shirt. 

“Hmmmpf!” Arthur narrow his eyes at him, when two fingers tweaked his nipple, his eyes widened, a yelp was muffled in his mouth.

Bill lazily smiled. “Like that? Got 'nother one.” His second hand slid in, did the same as the first to Arthur's other nipple, pinching and twisting.

“Mhhff.” The noise he made was almost a moan, it felt nice, he couldn't deny it. But he had to remember where he was and who was doing this. Unless he was right when he guessed there might be someone in the camp who he'd been with before. Could it be this man? That would explain why he'd been so reluctant to join Micah's torture, even outright refusing. So quick to forgive him for almost killing him.

Arthur arched his back, hardly moved as he did so, the ropes did their job and held him in place. He was defenseless to stop the ongoing assault. There was a part of him which didn't mind, enjoyed being powerless while his body experienced pleasure. There must be something wrong with him, he thought. “Uumhpf.” This time it was definitely a moan, a tongue twirled around his left nipple, it sent a shiver of pleasure all the way down to his groin. He forgot what he was thinking about. 

“You...you taste so nice Morthur... Arthur.” Bill slurred. “C-can I-” He swayed, pointed at Arthur's groin, didn't touch it.

Arthur's breath was labored, his body screamed yes, begged his mind to allow the man to continue. He shook his head. The look of disappoint on Bill's face was immediate.

“W-well then 'm gonna...” Bill's voice trailed off, took his own member out instead. He started stroking himself with one hand, the other he rested on Arthur's shoulder for support.

Arthur raised his brows then closed his eyes. A drunken man was stroking himself in front of him while he's tied to a tree. He'd laugh if circumstances were less dire, and he was still aroused, at least it wasn't much. “Hmmrrgg!” Arthur couldn't hold back a muffled groan when the fingers on his shoulder dug in painfully. Had the big guy finished already? 

Bill slumped forwards, barely managed to tuck himself back in his pants. “Shit.” He panted, fumbled with the buttons on Arthur's shirt. He managed to close one, failed miserably with the top one and decided to leave it as is. He wanted to say more things to Arthur, but he felt so drowsy, feared he'd fall asleep in Arthur's lap. He'd have a lot of explaining to do if he did. Bill crawled up, almost stumbled, tried to find his way to his bedroll. 

Arthur sighed, happy that was over with. He knows he should be angry about what happened, but he couldn't. He partially enjoyed it, but the man was being a drunken idiot, went too far, sure. But he'd been sensible enough to ask if he could get more intimate. Was he making excuses for the man? It could be that he was too tired to care. The pain was back, no longer masked by arousal, he sighed again.

~~~

Stars faded away as the skies brightened from the early rising sun. Arthur's eyes were barely open, as they had been for the entire night. The pain in his back and ass had receded down to a dull ache, for which he was grateful. Much to his dismay he discovered early in the night that he wouldn't be able to get any sleep. Every time he dozed off his head had lolled forwards. It pulled him out of his peaceful slumber as the rope around his neck would dig in and strangle him. He had no choice but to keep his head straight, and only managed to doze off for minutes at a time. 

There was movement in the tent in front of him, Micah's. Sure enough the bastard exited not long after, fully dressed, dirty smirk on his face as he made his way over. 

“Morning princess.” He whispered. “Hope you slept well, you look so comfortable.” He smirked, “got a quick errand to run, but don't worry, I'll be back soon.”

Arthur growled when his hair was tousled. He hated it, no doubt that's why the bastard kept doing it. With Micah gone he wondered if he should risk it and make some noise, attract attention, get someone to free him. Then he could get Artemis to flee, she'd be safe. No, she'd probably find her way back in no time, not the best plan. He could tell Hosea, the old man was the only one with authority who seemed concerned for him. He noticed that Micah was afraid to be discovered. But Dutch was their leader, and he seemed eager to jump to Micah's defense, bastard must be important to the bigger bastard. Arthur snorted at the thought. He could apologize to the big drunkard, tell Dutch what happened and why he lost control. Maybe they'd see reason and agree that he'd be free to go tomorrow. Maybe. 

A few minutes later, Arthur opened his eyes to a pair of legs and glanced upwards, Charles. For a man of his size he sure was light-footed, damn. He turned his head away when a pair of hands reached for the back of his head. 

Charles frowned, squatted down in front of Arthur, lowered his voice. “Dutch?” A head shake from Arthur. “Micah?” He saw Arthur hesitated at first, then gave him the smallest of nods. "Figures." Charles sighed, knew he couldn't do anything about Micah, Dutch would never take his word over anything Micah had to say. Ever since Arthur went missing, Micah had wormed himself in to Dutch's good graces with every day that passed.

“He just left, let me give you some water, I'll put it back after, he'll never know.” Charles didn't wait for a response, one hand held Arthur's head still while the other untied the cloth. He then removed the other one from Arthur's mouth, it was so much, excessive. Of course it was Micah. “I'll get you a drink.”

Arthur let out a sigh of relief, flexed his jaw, sore as it was. He was grateful that the man didn't seem to take no for an answer when it came to looking out for him. This was a man he truly regretted not remembering. Charles was back in front of him within moments, held a cup to his lips. He emptied it within seconds, gulped as it went down his throat, past the rope around his neck, it was hard to swallow, but he managed.

Charles nodded. “I can't do more for you, I'm sorry. I'll talk to Hosea.”

Arthur understood, they had a hierarchy, like the O'Driscoll's. “'on't.” He croaked, as hard as it was to swallow past the rope around his neck, it was even harder to speak.

“Arthur.”

“p'ease.” Arthur whispered.

Charles clenched his jaw. Micah. “I have to go, do you need anything else?”

Arthur shook his head, he'd hate to see Charles get in trouble on his behalf, “'ank you.”

Charles nodded, imagined himself beating the crap out of Micah while he put Arthur back in the same state he found him in. He would rather stay around camp, intervene where he could, but he had to go hunt. Arthur and himself were the only capable hunters in camp, Hosea had lost the strength needed for bigger game. It was up to him now to get the food they needed. Without Arthur's contributions it had doubled his workload.

Arthur closed his eyes again, kept repeating Charles' name inside his head. Tried his damnedest to make some lost memory about him resurface. If only.

~~~

Dutch finished dressing himself, a freshly lit cigar was between his teeth as he opened his tent flap. He was just in time to spot Hosea on his way past him. Dutch removed the cigar from his lips, “you look like a man who walks with purpose.”

Hosea stopped. Where are you going, is what Dutch was really saying. “I'm going to untie Arthur, you talked me in to leaving him like that for the night, and I regret listening.” 

Dutch nodded. “Be sure to give him one of your revolvers while you're at it.” He puffed on his cigar.

Hosea sighed, walked up to Dutch. “Give him a chance Dutch.”

“I have, Bill almost died because of it.”

Hosea pinched the bridge of his nose, Dutch was right, yesterday's events made things more complicated. How could he convince anyone to trust Arthur now? “If you talk to him. In a reasonable manner, I think it could work. You are why he's so angry, apologize and mean it, _do_ something, please.” 

Dutch was reluctant to answer, he did nothing wrong, had nothing to apologize for.

“Morning boss.”

Hosea groaned when Micah crept up next to him.

“Got that debt for Mr. Strauss in order.” Micah glanced between Dutch and Hosea. “You two need a moment?”

Dutch shook his head, grateful for Micah's interruption. “We were discussing Arthur.”

“'Course, ole' Morgan is taking up a lot of time as of late, gotta say I don't envy you Dutch, making all them hard decisions for us. It's a shame we can't trust Morgan no more.”

Hosea narrowed his eyes at Micah. “I still trust him more than I've ever trusted you.”

“Relax old fella, don't want to get the-” Micah faked a few coughs, “going again.”

“That's enough you two. I'll talk to him.” Dutch left them behind at his tent, already sick of their bickering.

Hosea turned to face Micah. “Tell me what you did to him yesterday, if I have to find out by myself, and I will, there's going to be hell to pay.”

Micah raised his hands. “Told ya, we just talked is all.”

Hosea nodded with a scowl on his face. “If I ask Bill, is that what he'll say?”

Micah stepped aside, held his arms out towards Bill, who snored away on his bedroll.

Hosea stomped towards Bill. “Williamson, get your lazy, good for nothing ass out of bed.” He kicked him against his leg.

Bill jumped, sat up, “shit, what?” He rubbed his eyes, his head pounded from last night. Morgan, fuck, what did he do? Did they find out, was he too loud? Shit, why did he do that. Shit shit shit.

“What did you and Micah do to Arthur?!”

“Uuh...” Bill glanced up at Micah who stood behind Hosea.”

“Look at me when I'm talking to you and get up!” Hosea yelled.

“Okay... geez,” Bill got up to his feet, clutched his side. “I'm up.”

“Where did you go, what did you do to him?”

Bill shifted. “Nothing, I... we went to the creek and talked.”

“Bill Williamson, I want the truth.” Hosea demanded.

He struggled to speak, lying to Hosea was hard. “Ask Micah, he told me to come along, I-I need to go piss.” Bill left as fast as he could, considered taking his horse out and leave for a few hours, or days, maybe weeks. Why the fuck did he listen to Micah and go to Arthur after so many drinks. He touched him, touched himself in front of him. So stupid, Arthur probably despises him even more now. Shit.

Micah stepped closer. “How about this old feller, for the sake of good will, I'll ask Dutch to give Morgan another chance.”

Hosea frowned. “And why would you do that? You were so adamant to keep him where he is.”

“I didn't know it pained you so much, that it would cause such hostilities between you and Dutch, I can't bare the thought of knowing I had a hand in that.” Micah placed his hands on top of chest.

Hosea scoffed at him. “A bigger shit talker there is not.”

Micah raised his hands. “Fine, here I am, offering to help and you refuse, I can already hear Morgan's heart breaking.”

Hosea was not amused. “Go ask him.”

“Sorry old man, I don't understand rude.” Micah smirked.

Hosea glared at him. “You walk a fine line Micah Bell, one day you'll trip and fall.”

“Well if I fall I'm sure Dutch will be there to catch me, at least he's got some years left in him, unlike some people.” Micah forced a few coughs out, when Hosea's hand went for his revolver Micah immediately raised his own in surrender. “Easy old man, jokes in poor taste, I get it. I'll talk to Dutch, everyone will be happy.” He bowed, took a few steps backwards while he kept his head low, until he turned towards Dutch and Arthur.

~~~

“Morning Arthur.” Dutch squatted down in front of him.

Arthur opened his eyes, heard their squabble, all of it.

“Son, you must understand, this... situation we are in, it is difficult for me, for us.”

Arthur snorted.

“If I let you go, now, tomorrow, whenever. What guarantee do I have that you won't try to kill us? You made that promise yesterday, then you almost ended Bill's life.”

Arthur closed his eyes, he knows he fucked up. Regrets it even more now that he's seen that Bill isn't some sadistic man who enjoys torture. The opposite even, the man seemed repulsed by it. Which means it must have been Dutch who somehow pushed him to do what he did to Noah. Arthur opened his eyes again, glared at Dutch.

“Even if you agree to behave, I can no longer take your word for it.”

“Hmmmpff?!”

Dutch lowered his eyes to the cloth inside Arthur's mouth, patted him on the shoulder. “We'll leave that in for now. Hosea will have my head if you make me lose my temper again.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Do not mistake my conviction for weakness. I am not afraid of you, nor Colm. I want you back at my side, more than anything. But you are not the boy I raised, not anymore, I see that now.”

Where the hell is he going with this? Arthur couldn't follow.

“Hosea believes this situation can still be salvaged. Micah and I have agreed that's unlikely, do you think it's possible, Arthur?”

Arthur frowned, searched Dutch's eyes for meaning, as if there was any to be found there. He wasn't sure what to say, it sounded like a trap. If he agreed, the man wouldn't believe him, as he just said. If he disagreed, he'd condemn himself. Arthur shrugged, a non answer.

“Uhmhhpff.” Arthur's muffled sigh come out in response to Micah, who walked up to them and stopped next to Dutch. Bastard was probably here to convince Dutch to keep him like this.

“Nice to see you too, cowpoke.” Micah couldn't resist, ruffled Arthur's already messy hair.

“Is there a reason for this interruption, Micah?” Dutch got to his feet.

“Talked things over with Matthews, thinking maybe we should give Morgan here another chance.”

Arthur's brow furrowed, Micah was up to something, had to be.

Dutch's hand froze, right before the cigar between his fingers could touch his lips. “Not long ago you were very persuasive when you suggested we'd better not.”

“And I'm still conflicted, I admit, but the old man... he seems so heartbroken about this, I can keep an eye on him for ya, Dutch. Make sure he behaves.”

Arthur snorted. How the hell did Dutch buy any of his shit?

Dutch sighed, lowered his gaze towards Arthur. “This will be your last chance Arthur, do not disappoint me again.”

“Why are you two yokels yapping over there instead of untying him?!” Hosea hurried over, knife in hand.

Dutch placed his cigar between his teeth and raised his hand, no more angry Hosea for him. He retreated to his tent, time for a good book, he thought.

“What in God's name is all this Micah? Were you trying to strangle him to death?!” Hosea was red faced, started with the rope around Arthur's neck.

Micah bit back a smile at Arthur's strangled gurgle when Hosea pulled on the rope to cut it. He'd have to find some other reason to do more of this. “I was just making sure we'd all be safe for the night, and we was, you're welcome.”

“Shut up with your nonsense and get out of my sight! I've had enough of you.” Hosea kept sawing at the other ropes, until Arthur was free from the tree.

“As you wish.” Micah bowed before his departure, and a wink for Arthur.

Arthur groaned when his arms flopped down to his sides, they were useless. He'd have to wait for some blood flow to return, which would also be an unpleasant experience, he sighed at the thought. “hmmmpff?” Pleading eyes stared at Hosea when the man returned to his front. 

Hosea nodded. “I got you son.” Arthur had titled his head forwards for him, he removed the knot from the gag. His eyes narrowed when it was too hard for Arthur to spit out what was in his mouth. Hosea helped, pulled it out for him, his face turned even redder when he saw the size of spit soaked cloth. “That bastard.” Hosea leaned over, had to catch Arthur when the man tilted dangerously towards him. “Hold on, let me just-” Hosea shifted around, kept Arthur steady while he sat down properly next to him, “there.” He draped an arm around Arthur's neck, pulled him closer, let his head rest on his shoulder. “You look exhausted, let's just sit awhile.” 

It didn't take long until Hosea heard Arthur's soft snoring. He took this chance to carefully peak behind the top of Arthur's shirt, lifted it a bit. He couldn't see anything, only the red mark around Arthur's neck from the ropes he just freed him from.

Arthur's eyes shot open, concerned he'd strangle himself again if he dozed off.

Hosea turned his head when he felt the jolt in Arthur's body. “You okay, son?”

Arthur frowned, surprised that he seemed free from pressure against his back. His surprise only lasted for a few seconds, until his tired brain caught up again. “'es,” he cleared his throat. “Yes.” God his voice was still hoarse, he hoped there was no permanent damage.

“We'll get you some food in a bit, should be ready soon.”

Arthur sighed happily, this was nice, being held by someone who cared. He missed that, it's been five or six days since he'd last seen Noah; almost two weeks since they last spoke, if not more, he'd lost count. Every day since has been torture, first of the mind when he was desperate to find Noah. Then when they found him, near death. After that it became torture of the body as soon as he crossed paths with the Van der Linde's. He was so damned tired, and for what? He'd achieved nothing, everything he'd done had been one failure after another. The only positives had been that he got to meet Charles and Hosea, Kieran too. But Hosea, shit, he almost forgot. Arthur shifted a bit, licked his lips, “'m sorry.” 

“Hm?” Hosea frowned.

“I... let you down.”

“Oh.” Hosea sighed. “Yes you did, you made things more difficult Arthur. For the sake of revenge.”

“You don't understand what they did.”

Hosea shook his head. “I don't, but an eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.”

Arthur snorted with a small smile on his lips. “Educated man.”

Hosea chuckled. “I dabble, now come on, can't sit like this forever or my back will lock in place. Think you can stand?”

Arthur shifted a bit, his arms seemed back, tingly as they were. He pushed off with them, managed to get to his feet, stiff as a board. He held his hand out to Hosea, who gratefully accepted being pulled to his feet.

“I need to relieve myself, go see Mr. Pearson for some food.” Hosea patted Arthur on the back.

Arthur sidestepped to get rid of Hosea's hand, almost cried out in pain, had to grit his teeth. “'kay.” His voice was strained, Hosea noticed. “Just stiff.” He forced a smile out, the man seemed satisfied with that answer and headed off. Arthur heard clapping as soon as Hosea was out of hearing range. He didn't even have to guess. Arthur sighed.

“Get over here, half man.” Micah sat on his cot, revolver in one hand, cloth in the other.

“Stop calling me that.” Arthur took a few steps towards him.

“I call you what I want, besides, it's what you are. Half man, half woman. Women like men, you like men, half woman.” 

“Whatever, what do you want?” Arthur rubbed his wrists.

“The respect we agreed you'd give me, first of all.” His eyes went up to meet Arthur's, he narrowed them.

Arthur shifted his jaw, resisted the urge to tell him where to shove his respect. “What do you want, Mr. Bell?”

Micah smirked. “Not good, but better, I'll accept it for now, watch your wording and tone, don't quite like it.” He waved towards Pearson's wagon. “Get me some food, and bring a bowl for yourself, I'll be watching.”

“Yes, Mr. Bell.” Arthur mumbled, set off towards the wagon, struggled to contain his anger. If this was how his day would be, he didn't think he'd get through it without another attempted murder.

Arthur startled when a hand on his arm pulled him to the side, it was Bill and he half dragged him behind Pearson's wagon. These people were making it very hard for him to stay calm. “What?!”

“Ssshhh!” Bill's cheeks were flushed. He leaned in to whisper.“I just... wanted to say I'm sorry for, you know, last night, I was drunk, it was a mistake... I-I'm sorry okay? Bill didn't wait for a response, he was too ashamed, rushed to wherever, he didn't know, he just had to get away.

Arthur frowned. “Okay then...” He went back to doing Micah's stupid bidding, returned to his tent with two bowls of stew in hand, set one down his table and turned to leave with his own.

“You ain't leaving just yet, cowpoke, close the flaps.”

Arthur let out a deep sigh, he knew nothing good would follow. He set his own bowl down next to Micah's and did as told, couldn't see Hosea anywhere, a rescue seemed unlikely. “What? You want me to watch you eat?”

“No, I want you to eat with me, like the good boy you are.” Micah grinned when Arthur seemed confused, he grabbed a bowl of stew and set it down on the ground at his feet. “Eat.”

Arthur clenched his fists. “I ain't no dog.”

Micah's grin widened. “You are what I say you are, come on boy.” He tapped the side of his cot. “Eat. Refuse and I'll tell Dutch it ain't a good idea to let you roam free.”

Arthur inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled loudly. He knelt down, eyes on the gun in Micah's hand, he could take it from him, shoot him. Consequences be damned, it would be worth it. No, Hosea, he couldn't let him down again, the man fought hard for him. This would be over soon.

“On all fours, like a good doggy.” Micah grabbed his own bowl, started scooping food into his mouth as he watched Arthur struggle to eat his. “Eat slowly, I want to enjoy this.”

Arthur had a hard time eating, couldn't go fast if he tried, and he did try. Fuck his order.

“Good boy, don't forget to lick it clean.” Micah waited patiently until Arthur was done. “Now lick mine clean, I don't want to see a single drop of that shit stew left in it.” He held the bowl at an angle in front of him, pulled it back when Arthur reached for it. “Ah ah! Did I say you didn't have to stay on all fours? Doggies don't grab things with their paws, lick.” He held it out again.

Arthur felt the heat in his face, he wondered how red he was as he crawled closer to Micah, his face in the bowl as he used his tongue to lap up every last drop.

Micah withdrew the bowl to inspect it, smiled and ruffled Arthur's hair, longer than he normally did. “Good boy, who's a good doggie? Yes you are.” He spoke as if Arthur were a child, or a dog in this case. Tossed the bowl on the ground next to the other one. “Take those back to the fat man, while I find another task for you.” Micah held his hand next to his ear, towards Arthur, he waited for a response.

Arthur closed his eyes for a second, just say what he wants, then get out. “Yes, Mr. Bell.”

“Thank me for letting you eat here.”

Arthur screamed inside his head, spoke through grit teeth. “Thank you for letting me eat here... Mr. Bell.”

Micah let out a satisfied sigh, laid down on his cot and waved dismissively at Arthur with his eyes closed. “Leave the flaps open on your way out.”

“Yes Mr. Bell.” He mumbled, gathered the bowls, re-opened the flaps and left. He dumped them in the box at Pearson's wagon, looked around, had to find some way to cool off.

“Mr. Morgan!” Kieran walked over. “How are you?”

Arthur took a few deep breaths, made sure he wouldn't lash out at him.

“Oh... yeah he's, ehm, not a nice man.” Kieran lowered his head.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?” Arthur eyed him up and down.

Kieran shook his head. “N-no, got lucky I guess.” He leaned in closer, whispered. “I'm sorry for messing things up, I followed to s-see if you was okay, wanted to warn Mr. Matthews, b-but they caught me, 'm real s-sorry Mr. Morgan.”He kept his head lowered, picked at his fingers. “I'd s-say something now but he'd k-kill me. Don't no one care here what h-happens to me.”

Arthur's shoulders sagged, the man got in trouble to see if he was okay, shit. “Kieran...” He placed a hand on his shoulder, withdrew it immediately when Kieran flinched and stepped back. He raised his hands. “Sorry, I didn't mean to...” 

“S-sorry, you normally,” Kieran shook his head. “Never mind.”

Shit. He was an asshole to him, like he said the others were. He was bad with this stuff, not sure what he should say to him. Apologize? What difference would that make, he had no way to show his gratitude neither. Thank him you moron. “I ehm... thank you, for the risk you took.”

Kieran raised his head, a small smile appeared on his lips, his cheeks turned pinkish. He nodded.

Arthur had to walk away, wanted to say sorry, sorry for not remembering that I used to be a bastard to you. What other sins had he forgotten about?

Arthur went around the camp and helped some folk out wherever he could or was wanted. Small talked with a few of the girls who were curious about his adventures so far. He hadn't shared much, O'Driscoll's were a sensitive subject for them and Noah was one for him. He was on his way to fill a bucket with water when Micah waved him over. Not again, he sighed, set the bucket down outside Micah's tent. “What?” He closed his eyes for second, corrected himself. “Yes Mr. Bell?”

“Mr. Bell?” John laughed, he was outside his tent which wasn't too far from Micah's. “You being serious?” John had to join him, this was too strange and he wanted to know more.

“You ain't needed here Marston, go find some work instead of lazying about.” Micah narrowed his eyes at him.

John snorted. “You looked in a mirror recently? You barely done shit yourself.”

“Helluva lot more than you, scarface, get lost. Dog, tell him to get lost.” Micah glanced over at Arthur.

Arthur turned his head away. “Get lost, John.”

“The hell did you do to him Micah? This ain't normal.” John's mouth was agape as his eyes darted between them.

Micah stood up from his cot, holstered his gun. “You forgetting who you're talking to?”

John squared up to him. “I sure as hell ain't. You is nothing more than a smug little coward. You should be thanking Arthur for busting you out of jail 'n saving you from a hanging back in Strawberry. Instead of God knows what you done to make him like this.”

Micah took a step backwards, hands raised. “I've thanked him plenty in the past, even gave him a gift for helping me get these precious things back.” He patted one of his guns.

“You made him shoot up the whole damned town with you! He shoulda let you rot.” John raised his voice.

Strawberry, jailbreak, shootout. Arthur's face fell, turned a ghostly white. “Y-you? W-what, it was you?”

Micah smirked. “Having a bit of a memory moment there Morgan? Relax, we had fun, killed a lot of law.”

“I was there? I shot folk?” Arthur's voice cracked, turned his head to John, mouth agape in disbelief.

John shrugged. “It's true, I mean, you told me you only shot folk who shot at you, it was messy, but it was Micah's fault.”

Arthur's legs started shaking, his chest rose and fell rapidly. He had to leave, turned around, towards the tree he'd been tied to, leaned against it. His eyes were wide, couldn't breathe anymore. He dropped to his hands and knees when his legs gave out from under him. Bile rose up in his throat, he couldn't hold it back. Arthur vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update this time. I had fun writing this one, that's why it was faster than usual, flowed easily ( and it's weekend). Hope it's as fun to read as it was to write!
> 
> Love you all, looking forward to hear your thoughts on it as always. Much love <3 Thank you so much for sticking with me!


	24. Chapter 24

Micah hooked his thumbs behind his gun belt, had a smirk on his face. “You alright there cowpoke? Looking a bit green.”

Arthur leaned against the tree, a line of drool still attached to his chin. He couldn't believe it, wouldn't have believed it, if only Micah had said it. But John, that man was honest. He never thought that in the end he would have to look at himself as one of the men responsible for that massacre. Him and that bastard behind him. The man who tormented him, tortured him. The sadistic bastard who stood behind him and was heckling him even now. Arthur clenched his fists, arms trembled as rage took it's hold on him. Kill him.

“Answer me when I'm talking to you, half man.” Micah had no time to react when a fist came his way, knocked him hard on his ass. “What the fuck, Mo-”

Arthur swung at him again, dazed him long enough so he could force him on his back and straddle him. He wrapped his hands around Micah's neck. “Die, you sadistic piece of shit.” Micah's eyes widened, Arthur saw the man attempts to reach for his guns. He shifted his legs, squeezed his thighs against Micah's holsters, blocked his access. Desperate hands flailed around, tried to grab on to him. He wasn't at his strongest, days of torture had taken their toll on his body, as had the sleepless nights. In spite of all that, the man under him was still weaker, pathetic even. The kind of man who only talked big when his victims were powerless to stop him. Arthur bared his teeth, squeezed harder. Fear filled blue eyes stared up at him, strangled gasps tried to speak to him.

Micah managed to get an arm around him, fingers dug painfully in to his back, on top of his worst scar. He cried out in pain, bastard knew where to touch him. His hands were glued to Micah's neck, no amount of pain would make them waver. Another hand now covered his face, tried to push him back. A thumb ended up past his lips, pulled on the corner of his mouth, he bit down on it. A coppery taste filled his mouth as a strangled scream died inside the throat between his fingers. He kept squeezing, waited to see the life drain out of those blue eyes. 

In the corner of his eye he saw Charles and Hosea rushing over to him, man must be a good hunter to be back so fast. He was out of time, wanted this to be slow. He had to move fast now, flipped the bastard around, wrapped an arm around his neck, the other he placed against the side of Micah's neck, one good twist and it was over.

Voices surrounded him from all sides, hands pried his arms away, held on firmly as they dragged him backwards. “No!” He shouted, needed only a few more seconds to end it. He kicked out with his feet, one boot connected with Micah's side, knocked the kneeling man over again. John and Charles pulled him further back, out of reach. He failed again. Greed and a thirst to see Micah suffer had ultimately saved the man's life, poetic irony. 

Micah had rolled on his side, hand clutched his throat as he gasped for air between coughs.

“Arthur dammit!” Hosea yelled at him, stood in his face now as he pointed an angry finger. Man seemed concerned, they both knew he just blew the last chance which Dutch had given him. He'd be their prisoner now, or the greasy bastard would torture him to death, the latter seemed more likely.

That same greasy bastard had now gotten up to his feet, clutched his bleeding hand with another. He should have bitten down harder. “N-now, you all see, he's c-crazy.” Micah panted between words, struggled to get them out. He wished he'd throttled him hard enough to destroy that annoying voice forever, would have been better than killing him. Almost.

“I'll kill you for what you done!” Arthur hated that voice, really wanted to silence it once and for all. He put all his weight on his feet, dug them into the dirt as he attempted to lunge forward. He managed to drag John and Charles with him for a few steps. He was almost there, but Micah had jumped backwards, out of reach, the coward. He jerked his right arm free, John had lost his grip on him. He closed more distance between Micah and himself, if only a few steps. John tugged on his shirt, had a firm hold of it's sleeve, the material tore, buttons were ripped off. His arm was wrenched behind him, it hurt. They got a better hold of him, held him steady.

“Hold on now.” Hosea frowned, stepped towards him. He watched as the older man's hand hovered towards his shirt, moved it to the side, bared his chest and everything below it.

“What the hell is this Micah?!” Hosea's finger traced over the red welt on his lower abdomen, made sure to not touch it.

“Why you asking me old feller?” Greasy bastard faked ignorance, no surprise there.

With a stern voice Hosea ordered the two men to let go of him. He flexed and rubbed his shoulder, John had been rough, the man had forced Arthur's hand up against his shoulder blade. His eyes landed on Micah, bastard had positioned himself closer to Dutch, who hadn't said a word as of yet.

“Turn around.” Hosea ordered him, didn't wait for a response and spun him around, his shirt was being lifted. John and Charles had stepped forward, no doubt to investigate why Hosea had gasped so loudly. Arthur closed his eyes, everyone would see what Micah had done to him, maybe they'd let him beat the bastard some more. No harm in dreaming.

“Jezus!” John exclaimed.

He lowered his shirt, turned around. They had all seen it, there was no need to keep himself on display.

“Colm?” Of course Dutch would accuse anyone but his lapdog.

“Colm?! These ain't more than a day old Dutch.” One of Hosea's hands rested on his revolver, he could reach for it, take it out from under the man's hand and shoot Micah, but Hosea stood between them, if his aim was off, Micah or Dutch might shoot at him and Hosea would be his shield. No, never.

  
  


Dutch gently pushed Hosea to the side, he twirled his hand and finger towards the men at Arthur's sides. Waited as they followed his order and spun Arthur around again for him. He had to see for himself, up close. His hand reached out, carefully lifted Arthur's shirt. His free hand brushed over the cuts, slower over the worst one, it had been cauterized, no longer than a day ago. Hosea was right. Arthur had flinched at his touch, the men holding him tightened their grips on his arms. He had seen many injuries on Arthur over the years, tended to a lot of them himself, but never any as brutal as these. They weren't left there after a fight, out of self defense or an aftermath of a job gone wrong. These were left there to torture, each blow carefully placed to cover as much of his back as possible. No doubt they'd leave scars, be an everlasting reminder of who left them there. A mark. His left eye twitched, involuntary, but he felt it.

He lowered Arthur's shirt, straightened it for the man, nodded at the boys, a silent order to turn him around again. His calm hands reached for the buttons on Arthur's shirt, closed the few that remained. “Micah?” He craned his neck, enough so to have Micah in his vision. 

“I admit, it looks bad, I tried my best to stop Williamson from going overboard, fellah just got so angry about being stabbed.” He knew that whenever Micah felt confident about his actions, his hands would be on or near his revolvers. Whenever he tried to be appealing, or convincing, he'd wave them around submissively. They were waving around at him.

“It weren't Bill, it was you!” Dutch tilted his head backwards a bit when Arthur shouted in his ear.

“Bill is an idiot, not a sadistic bastard like you.” Hosea added.

Dutch took a step towards Micah. “Come on boss, he ain't one of us no more. Had to teach him a lesson for trying to kill you and Williamson.” Another step, Micah backed up in sync with each of his forward one, the man's hands still waved around.

“A lesson? You tore his god damned back open, I told you not to trust him Dutch.” He side glanced at Hosea, ignored his words. His hand reached out for Micah's jacket, pulled him closer.

“You hurt my son.” He narrowed his eyes at the man, saw him swallow nervously.

“Your _son_ , tried to kill you, more than once. I was looking out for you, boss.”

He pointed at himself. “Arthur is _my_ son, I decide when and how to reprimand him. You do _not_ touch him without my permission, no one does.” His fist tightened around the fabric of Micah's coat.

“You're right boss, my mistake, won't happen again. I'll be minding my own business, making you good money as always.” Micah kept his hands raised.

“Good.” Dutch opened his hand. Allowed the man to step back, while he remained unmoving. He raised that boy, thought him everything he knew, shaped him into the killer he needed. No one but him was allowed to lay a hand on the boy. Not Micah, not Colm, no one.

“Which reminds me.” Micah raised a finger at him. He watched as the man headed into Arthur's former tent. Opened a lock box under his bed and returned to him with a shiny gold bar in his hands. “Promised you I'd find more of these, boss.” Micah continued to speak as he handed him the bar. “That's five maybe six hundred dollars right there. Don't see no one else in camp bringing in as much as me.”

“No, not as much.” He couldn't take his eyes off the gold, took a few steps backwards towards his own tent. All this money, right here in his hands, a few more of these and he could start planning a way out for them, a way to freedom. It was true that Micah always brought in good money, out of all his men he had proven himself to be his biggest earner. That's why he agreed to give him Arthur's old tent, hard labor came with a reward, as it always had. He needed another assertive worker, like Arthur had been, Micah had been the right man to take his place.

“Dutch?! You can't let this slide over a few dollars.” Hosea pleaded with him, there was reason in his voice. A gold bar in exchange for his forgiveness, had he stooped this low?

“Them's more than a few dollars old man.” He raised his head towards Micah, who had stepped closer to Arthur, stopped at arm's reach and pointed at the boy. “Cut him loose or put him down, Dutch, I vote for the latter.”

“Put me down?! You're a fuck rat, he should put you down. Colm told me he grabbed a Van der Linde after the Strawberry shootout, it was you.” Arthur's eyes were filled with hatred, conviction. He could see it from where he stood. Did Micah really betray him? Had he been swooned by the man's pretty words, his excessively submissive portrayal. No, he would have seen through it, would have noticed the signs. Arthur must be trying to play him.

Micah scoffed at Arthur. “Ain't no one going to believe your lies, he's lying Dutch!”

“It's unbecoming Arthur, and it won't help you.” Arthur had to be lying to him, desperate to find a way out for himself.

“I ain't lying, Colm told me he had one of you working for him, the one his men picked up at a small camp out near Devil's ridge.” More conviction in Arthur's words. Betrayal or not, he could still read his son like an open book. And yet, only moments ago he wasn't sure if the boy had been lying on or not. Was he too eager to eat up anything Micah fed him? Did the promise of more money blind him to truth?

“That is where you were camped, how would he know?” Hosea asked.

“Morgan has another memory moment and suddenly everyone believes him?” Micah spread his arms. “We siding with obvious traitors now? Colm made him say these things, to turn us against each other.” Micah stepped closer to him, had his hands out as if he were praying. “Dutch, I know you can see this all this is way too convenient.” He stared at Micah's hands. They were restless again, nowhere near his guns, waving around.

“Convenient like you being beaten and bruised when you came back?” Hosea questioned.

“I said I got mixed up in a bar fight.” Micah said.

“You've never been into a bar before that, or since. More convenience, Mr. Bell?” He glanced over at Hosea, the man had spat his words out. Distrust was evident in his voice, his old friend had always been a good judge of character. He hadn't heeded his advice when it came to Micah, convinced he had found someone useful for the gang. He wasn't wrong, it was Hosea who was wrong.

“I ain't no rat Dutch, I've been loyal to you from the start, given you everything, and I have much more to give.” Micah's hands pointed at the golden bar.

“...Yes, you have.” Six hundred dollars, in his hands. Six hundred more from the one he'd been given not long ago. They needed every last cent of it, he needed it for all the folk under his care, those who counted on him to keep them afloat.

Micah pointed at Arthur. “I made a joke, you didn't like and then you attacked me, now you're trying to lie your way out so Dutch will take your side, he ain't stupid cowpoke.”

“You _are_ a god damned rat! You told me you tortured me before, even pointed out the scars you gave me!” In the corner of his eye he saw Arthur had renewed his strength. The boy pulled against the grip on his arm with all he had, teeth bared as he strained from the effort. He must be weak, hurt. The young man he knew would be almost unstoppable during a fit of rage. It would take more than two men to hold him back whenever he had a target painted on someone. 

“Told you, crazy.” Micah motioned at Arthur. His eyes darted between them. Micah, Arthur. Two men who had done a lot for him. One of them an obvious traitor, the other now a potential traitor. His best men went behind his back to Colm O'Driscoll of all people. He tightened his grip on the gold bar. Felt his anger built as he thought about all the things Colm had stolen from him.

“Dutch! He's a traitor, he tortured _our_ son, tell me you won't let this go over some money?” Hosea kept pleading with him. He struggled to listen, felt like he heard it all a thousand times by now.

“Is Colm the reason you knew where to find Arthur? At the old mansion, I thought it was suspicious that you managed to track him so far up north.” Charles had spoken, the words made him look up, they stung with the sharpness of a blade. Questions which had lingered for over a month, now seemed to have found their answers.

Micah scoffed, “I'm good at what I do, work hard so we can all eat and that makes me suspicious?”

“You lie Micah. I knew you was a liar the moment I met you.” Arthur spat.

He glared when Micah grabbed a handful of Arthur's hair, his other arm was pulled back to strike him. Dutch's free hand rested on his revolver, he had warned the man not to touch him, now he defied him for all to see. Traitor? Disobedient? His breathing became faster and faster.

“If you touch him I will execute you where you stand.” Hosea threatened.

“You can't shoot me in camp old man, them's the rules, your rules.” Micah snickered, but he lowered his arm and stepped back.

“Did you betray me, Micah?” His voice was quiet, almost calm. He had to hear it from the man's mouth. See how he'd respond to the question.

Micah turned to face him. “'Course not. Morgan's the one who's been hanging around with Colm, you know that boss.”

“Yes, he has been...” His voice was distant, trailed off when he thought he saw a twitch at the corner of Micah's mouth, a split second battle between body and mind to not smile. 

Micah turned back to face Arthur, arms spread as he walked towards the man. “Now we've exposed you as a liar Morgan, things ain't looking too good for ya.” Exposed. Liar. Micah's words lingered in his mind, resonated like the chime of a bell.

Arthur still tried to break free, glared at Micah. His mouth opened but no words followed, the man had stopped his struggles, smiled.

“What's so funny, cowpoke?” There was surprise in his voice, Micah must have realized Arthur hadn't been looking at him, but behind him.

Dutch raised his arm, Micah turned around, the man's eyes widened when they caught a glimpse of the golden bar before he slammed it against his temple. It sent him crashing down in the dirt, where he belonged.

Dutch stood over him, his breath was labored, icy cold eyes stared down at the man. The traitor. Micah reached for his gun, he set his foot down on his hand, harder when the cry of pain wasn't loud enough for him. He swung his arm again, with more force than before, another blow against the side of his head. The gold bar had left a deep gash in his head, crimson red blood coated it's tip. Micah looked dazed, his movements had become sluggish. He straddled him, terrified blue eyes started up at him, words were uttered, begged him to stop. He had no ears for the words of a traitor, even less for the bastard who had tortured his son. Flesh dangled from the tip of gold bar as it struck the same spot, anger consumed him, he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. He had been blind before, allowed a rat to nest in his head, never again. Blow after blow collided with the Micah's head, until his skull was no more than a mangled heap, unrecognizable. A hand tugged at his vest, a voice screamed in his ear. More traitors, he elbowed the one who spoke to him. 

Arthur gasped when Hosea cried out, Dutch's elbow had struck the underside of his jaw, he watched as the older man stumbled backwards and fell. Dutch had turned, it looked like he was about to hurt Hosea again. “Hey!” Arthur shouted, pulled himself free from the two men holding him. He leaped towards Dutch, collided hard with him and sent both of them rolling around in the dirt. Their scramble ended up with Dutch being on top of him, He tried to buck him, found that Dutch was much stronger than Micah had been. One of the man's large hands wrapped around his neck, didn't squeeze but held him down. The corner of his eye caught a metallic shine, a knife. Arthur used both hands and wrapped them around Dutch's wrist. The hand around his neck left and joined the one which held the blade, they pushed down. Arthur's eyes widened as it crept closer to his chest. He pushed with every fiber in his body, it hovered closer to his sternum, he couldn't stop Dutch, he was too weak. 

Cold steel pressed against Dutch's temple, a hammer cocked back. Arthur let out the breath he'd been holding when the knife disappeared. The large hand returned to his neck, still didn't squeeze, only served to hold him down.

“That's how it is then?” Dutch had raised his head, no longer stared down at him, but ahead, seemingly at nothing.

“So it seems.” Hosea replied, his hand was unsteady, finger on the trigger, Arthur wondered if he'd pull it. Hoped he would.

The pressure on Arthur's back and neck disappeared when Dutch rose to his feet. The man turned to face Hosea, sheathed his knife. Neither of them spoke as they squared off to each other. On his right, past Micah's mangled head, he could see John and Charles were dumbfounded. They hadn't moved nor had they reached for their weapons.

“Get out of my camp.” Dutch had emphasized every syllable.

Arthur's eyes darted between the two men, until Dutch craned his neck and glanced down at him. Cold eyes bored into his skull, the man was talking to him, told him to get out. Still out of breath from their fight he scrambled backwards. Crawled on all four until he got to his feet. He bolted towards his horse, had to get out before the man changed his mind or someone decided to put a bullet in his back. In one swift move he leaped on her saddle and grabbed the reins. “Hyah!”

Hosea holstered his gun when Arthur rode away. Raised his chin at Dutch and nodded, still shaken from the events that had just transpired. In silence he stepped past Dutch and packed his bedroll, gathered what few possessions he had.

“What are you doing?” Dutch had followed, stood closely behind him.

“I'm leaving, what does it look like?” He had no more than a few books to gather. The rest of his gear was in his saddlebags already, he had kept most of it there for his long travels in search of Arthur.

“Et tu, Brute?”

“Call it what you want, I don't care anymore, I'm done with this, done with you.” With his items in hand he headed towards the hitching posts.

Dutch had turned to his tent, retrieved a cigar and stood outside of it. His eyes were on Hosea as his hand waved at Charles, motioned him over. He spoke when the man was within earshot, “I need you to follow Mr. Morgan.” Dutch's gaze switched to Charles, the man seemed hesitant to him. “I have no interest in him, I want to know where Colm is, he started it at all and it will end with him. Don't doubt my intentions Mr. Smith, not now, not ever.” Dutch lit his cigar, it was his way to inform Charles that the conversation was over and not up for debate.

“Ms. Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson, there is a dead rat outside of my tent, do take care of it, burn it somewhere.” Dutch stared down at Micah's corpse with hatred in his eyes. Micah, Arthur, Hosea. How many more would follow? He let Arthur go for a reason, wanted to punish him for attacking him again. But he had formed a new plan to put the killer he raised to good use. 

Charles stepped around Micah's body. His mind still tried to wrap itself around what had just transpired, Micah being dead was a good thing. But there was a rule to not kill in the camp. Dutch had broken it, his own rule. The man's attack was sudden and vicious, he'd never seen Dutch so out of control, a bad omen of things to come, he feared. Now his task was to follow Arthur, he wanted to object, but couldn't. He didn't sense a lie when Dutch said he had no interest in Arthur. The man's hatred for Colm was strong and he must see this as a chance to end his life, it would be good to have this war end. Charles stepped aside when John almost bumped into him, he was on his way to the horses, no doubt to speak to Hosea.

“Hosea!” The older man had already mounted his horse, John tilted his head upwards. “You leaving us?”

Hosea took the reins in his hands. “I'm too old for this John, this ain't how I want to spend my last years.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don't know son.” Hosea sighed. “I don't know...” His voice trailed off, a short pause. “You stay safe, watch out for that man.” He nodded in Dutch's direction. “Get out while you can, you and your family.”

John swallowed. “So... this is goodbye then?”

A small smile appeared on Hosea's lips. “There are no goodbyes for us. Wherever you are, you will always be in my heart, John, you and the others.” Hosea's voice cracked, he cleared his throat.

John felt a lump in his throat, stood frozen as he watched Hosea disappear behind the treeline. Arthur, Hosea, twenty one years of friendship wiped away because of Micah. Or was it Dutch? He wasn't sure who to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went more POV based for this chapter, sorry if the changes are jarring, this whole story is more or less a writing experiment for me. I'm still trying to find what works and what doesn't. Sorry! :(
> 
> As always much love to all of you lovely readers, you're wonderful people, never forget that! Looking forward to hear your thoughts on this chapter, more so than others, was Micah's demise satisfying? Predictable? A sour experience? I'd love to hear from you! <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW** : Heavy suicidal themes in this chapter.

When Arthur left the Van der Linde camp, the blazing sun had been high up in the sky. He hadn't stopped, pushed his horse to it's limit. They rode throughout the day and now the sun was close to disappearing behind the horizon.

"We're almost there girl, just a lil' further." Artemis gave him all she had, her stride had slowed and her head moved around a lot, she was at her limit. He pushed her, they had to get there before nightfall. Their destination was the cabin where they had taken Dutch to, where he had beaten the crap out of him. Charles and John had disarmed him after their fight and left his possessions behind. He hoped to still find them there, felt naked without them. That and camping outside without a weapon was not on his list of things to try.

They were now on the last path which lead straight to the cabin, place seemed quiet as far as he could tell. No signs of the massacre that happened here only a few days ago. He wondered if some poor soul stumbled across it or if Colm had sent some men to clean up. Was he looking for him as well? Maybe he thought the Van der Linde's had killed him. He wasn't even sure how he'd explain that in the end Dutch had just let him go, hopefully Colm won't think that he's a rat.

Arthur approached the front door, his right hand reached for his gun, grasped at nothing but air. “Right,” he sighed, remembered why he was here.

He pushed the door open, stepped inside. A dark stain on the floor marked where Owen's body should have been. His gaze shifted towards the table, nothing, his shoulders sagged, no hat, belt or guns, all gone. “'Course.” This meant that he had to travel for two more days without a cent to his name and nothing which would help him hunt. He had no clue how to set up traps, catching something edible wasn't going to happen. Two days, Arthur sighed. He was hungry already, searched every room in the house with what little daylight he had left, place had been ransacked.

At least there was a bed, he hadn't slept on anything for several days, hadn't even lied down for just as long. Not that he deserved any comfort. Arthur sat down on the bed, both hands went to his hair and stayed there. He'd been so hell bent on revenge, on getting back at Dutch and whoever else was there with him. Only to find out that ultimately he was the one who started it all. He broke Micah out, helped him shoot up the place. Started the whole chain of events which pushed Noah into Colm's hands and finally Dutch's. Arthur shook his head. Now he had to face Noah and tell him, wasn't sure if he could. Exhaustion got the better of him as he laid flat on the bed, soon enough his eyes closed and he drifted off.

~~~

The sun was back, and with it another day. He should get out of bed, didn't mean he wanted to. Getting out would mean riding further north, towards the ranch, towards Noah. Arthur rolled over on his side. Just a little longer, then he'd get up.

His eyes opened again a while later, when he rolled around to face the window it seemed like not much time had passed. He wondered why he woke up again so soon, until he heard stomping and neighing. Artemis. She probably wanted to drink after her long ride from yesterday. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips before he sat up. Take care of your horse you fool, Arthur got to his feet, used his horses needs as his motivation to start the day. 

“Hey girl.” He approached her as she stomped her front legs, agitated. “I know, 'm sorry.” Arthur stroked her neck with one hand while the other unhitched her. “Let's find you some water, hm?” He didn't have the heart to burden her with his weight, held on to the reins and lead her on foot. He was certain there was a creek on the other side of the hill ahead of them.

Not long later they'd finally made it up and over the hill. The creek wasn't far ahead, he guessed right. Artemis didn't waste a second, gulped up as much water as she could, he joined her, got his own fill and splashed some in his face. Arthur's growling stomach demanded his attention. His eyes fell on the saddlebag, perhaps there was something he could eat or use inside it. He opened the strap, let his hand slide inside, feeling around.

A black hat, the hat Hosea had showed him, told him was his. He was surprised that it was the first item his hand bumped into. At least now his head wouldn't be exposed to the sun. When he dug around in it for a second time he felt a book, before he pulled it out Arthur already guessed what it would be. The journal, supposedly his. He lifted it up, the few loose items inside scattered on the ground, some pictures, and to his surprise, a few dollars. He counted ten when he gathered them all up. “Thanks Hosea.” He said to himself. It was a guess, but he felt certain it was the older man who'd left them there for him.

He hoped Hosea was alright. He had bolted out while the man was in a standoff with Dutch, hadn't even looked back. Would they have shot each other? Did he flee a massacre before it had happened? He should go back, make sure Hosea was fine. No, he couldn't, if Dutch was alive he'd surely grab him again, keep him there. He could go back after he tells Noah the truth, then it wouldn't matter anymore. For now he would have to hope for the best. Arthur gathered the pictures from the ground and packed the journal away. He found nothing edible in the satchel only some medicine and a tinderbox. At least he could start a fire. 

Arthur held on to the horn of his saddle, one foot set in the stirrup, he hesitated to mount her. Sitting on the saddle had been hell on his ass. Micah's departing gift to him. A few deep breaths later he swung his leg over, hissed as he sat down. Suffer, you deserve it, he told himself. 

Half a days riding later he arrived at a crossroad. He knew he had to travel north, but the sign pointing west had the word Valentine on it. He could stop there, buy some food, it had become hard to ignore his hunger. Artemis deserved a break as well, as did his rear end, the pain became harder to ignore. Convincing himself that he deserved it wasn't helping anymore either, he was desperate for a break. 

The evening sun cast long shadows on the ground as the mud ridden town bustled with people. In hindsight he thought it foolish to come here. Colm had told him he was a wanted man. Arthur shrugged, he didn't care. He guided Artemis towards the local hotel, hitched her up there. He stared up at the general store sign, had ten dollars to spend, could buy himself a decent amount of food.

Or...

The saloon doors creaked and swung freely after Arthur pushed his way past them. A group of four played cards on his right while the pianist tapped away at his keys on the left. On his way to the bar Arthur had to squeeze his way past several patrons, drunk or otherwise. “Whiskey, leave the bottle.” He placed down two dollars for the bartender, eight to go, only need to save a few for food. 

Many drinks later Arthur was joined by a female, her occupation left no room for questioning by the way she was dressed. 

“You look like a fella in need of a good time.” Her hand was on his shoulder already, he sighed, in no mood for company, especially not of this sort. 

“I ain't in need of nothing you can give, miss, I'll pass.” She huffed at him and left as he waved the bartender over, placed another two dollars down, four dollars left. Arthur got to work on emptying another bottle, his third, at least hunger was no longer an issue. Pain, he felt still felt plenty of, not the cuts or welts, they had gone numb a bottle or two ago.

Arthur finished his third bottle, steadied himself against the counter. He had enough, needed to escape from his thoughts. The man next to him would do, he tapped the feller on the shoulder. “Hey, m-mister. Hit me.” He pointed at his own jaw, struggled to stand straight.

“Excuse me?” The man said as he eyed him up and down. He was big a one, good.

“You deaf? Ah said hit me.” He shoved him, clumsily, man barely moved from it. “Ugly bastard.”

Feller squared up to him, almost half a head taller. “Get lost pal.”

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh. “God damned yellow b-bastard.” He pushed past the man, searched for another target. A hand on his arm stopped him, Arthur smirked. He was spun around, then a fist collided with his jaw, sent him staggering backwards in to a few other patrons. 

“Hey! Take it outside, don't be destroying the place.” The bartender said.

Arthur struggled to keep his legs steady, had no intention to defend himself. A hand grabbed hold of his arm, another on the back of his neck. He was marched out the door, almost thrown off the steps, he stumbled, failed to catch him self and landed face first in the mud. 

He got grabbed again, pulled to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“You wanna call me that again?” The big man asked.

“Shut up 'n hit me, y'llw, you... you is yellow.” Arthur slurred, almost smiled when the man drew his arm back, a few punches later he was on the ground again, down but not out. 

“Why you st- stop?” He crawled on all fours, turned towards the big guy, looked up at him, waited for the next blow.

The man stared down at him, shook his head. “You're pathetic, go home mister.” He turned, went back to the saloon.

“Y-you go home!” Arthur snorted, got up and stumbled towards the closest side alley. He leaned against the wall, slid down to his ass. Pain... at least now it was back to being physical, he wanted to go back for more, but his legs refused, closed his eyes instead. 

~~~

Arthur opened his eyes, couldn't see much, the darkness of the night even darker inside the narrow alleyway. A groan rumbled in his throat, the world still spun as he shifted to get up. Arthur doubled over when he got to his knees, emptied the contents of stomach, not much there to empty.

He got to his feet, rested a hand against the wall for support. With difficulty in his steps he managed to stagger over towards the general store, it was closed. He glanced over to the bench on his right, almost tripped during the few steps required to get there. He laid down, saw the hotel lights across the street, could go there and rent a bed. No, scum like himself should sleep outside, he'll sleep outside.

~~~

Noises. Too many noises around him, every hoof sounded like thunder, every voice a piercing shriek. Arthur groaned as he sat up, his hand immediately reached for his jaw, rubbed it, it hurt, he groaned again. The noises didn't stop, he gripped his head between both hands. “Shut up.” He mumbled. The early morning activity was too much, he had to leave, get out of this town. He was on his way to his horse when he remembered he came for supplies, turned back to the general store. Inside he used his four dollars to buy a few more bottles of whiskey and some snacks for Artemis.

They exited the town, headed north-west as planned. He figured they'd make it back to the ranch in a day and a bit, so far, everything about this day was a miserable experience. The blazing sun, stinging cuts and a throbbing jaw. His stomach growled again, as it had been ever since he got on his horse. Arthur reached inside his saddlebag, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, removed the cap with his teeth and drank. He knew he shouldn't, not without water on him, but who cares, he certainly didn't.

He was quick to empty it, tempted to reach for another but he already swayed in his saddle, an empty stomach strengthened the alcohols effects. Another good reason to not eat. He needed to piss, brought Artemis to a halt and unceremoniously slid off her saddle. He kept glancing over at her while he relieved himself, her eyes were on him, judging him. He glared at her, retrieved another bottle from her saddlebag, time for a break. 

He sat down, leaned against a tree and worked his way through the next bottle, her eyes were still on him as she grazed. “Wha'dya lookin' at?!” He crawled up, almost spilled what remained in his bottle. He pointed at Artemis. “S-stop lookin' at me, you... you don't know shit.” He staggered to his left, managed to catch himself against a tree, pointed at her again. “I-I killed my friends father, me.”  
He pointed at himself. “Now I gotta tell him that I ruined his life.” Another few gulps and the bottle was empty, he discarded it. “What do I say? What'd you even say? Sorry I ruined your life, sorry I p-pushed you towards Colm 'n Dutch, sorry you almost died 'cus of me. Let's just kiss 'n forget about it!” He stared at Artemis, as if he expected a response, then dismissively waved her off. “See, you don't know shit.”

She followed him as he walked off, got startled when a scream burst out of his lungs.

Anger got a hold of him, made him slam his fist against the first tree in his path, once, twice, until his knuckle bled. His shoulder rested against the tree. Tears welled up in his eyes, he let himself drop down until he was seated. Arthur pulled his legs up to his chest, he couldn't stop the flow of tears. 

He sat there, unsure for how long, until Artemis nudged his hat off, her nose then rubbed across his hair. He sighed, reached around her head and stroked her neck. You're pathetic; the words from the man in Valentine resonated in his head. Feller was right, he is.

Arthur got up with a heavy sigh, fished around in his saddlebag for some carrots. He was tempted to eat them, had to force himself to look away as he held them out for Artemis. She deserved it, you don't, he told himself. 

He struggled to mount her, felt lightheaded, the world around him not quite as clear as it should be. A leg squeeze later and they were off again.

Everything became a blur as they galloped across fields, through woodlands and over the roads ahead. To his surprise he realized that they had made better time than expected. The ranch wasn't more than a few hours away, there was even enough daylight to spare to make it there before sunset. Not that he wanted to, he wasn't ready to face Noah, unsure if he'd ever be. With one bottle of whiskey left to finish he decided now would be a good time to start.

The bottle drained as fast as his courage to continue. On a normal day he could handle a few bottles before feeling much, he now struggled at the halfway point of just one. He'd been leaning against a tree, head lolled forwards, bottle resting in his lap. He still hadn't figured out what he'd say to Noah. He wanted to find some pretty words to make it sound better, make himself sound less guilty, but he couldn't. Noah deserved the blunt truth, before the boy would start hating him forever, much like he hated himself right now. The knuckles of his hand around the bottle were chafed, dried blood crusted around it. Arthur stroked his fingers across them, his tightly pressed together. He knew what to do.

Arthur got up, drained what was left in his bottle without pause. He walked over to his horse, removed the lasso from her saddle and tossed it across an overhead branch. Micah was dead, he should be too. He lead Artemis over to his noose, mounted her. His breathing sped up as he pulled it over his neck, tightened it. A week ago he set out to punish those who had hurt Noah, with Micah dead it was only right that he'd now punish himself.

Bullshit. An excuse to ignore the fact that he's a coward, afraid to look Noah in the eyes and tell him the truth. Tell him that he spent over a week of his life caring for and feeding the bastard who was responsible for his fathers death. More tears stung his eyes, he closed them. He'll die as a coward then, not like he deserved anything better. He clicked his tongue, Artemis moved forward. Arthur squeezed his eyes closed, felt the rope go taut, it dragged him backwards as she moved away, until he swung freely from his neck. It hurt. The painful tightness around his neck was more than the alcohol in his system could keep at bay. His legs flailed around as he gasped for air, sounds of birds and trees faded into nothing, along with his consciousness.

He deserved this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm not really feeling this one, maybe I'll take another look at it later and re-write it.  
> Let me know what you think! Thanks as always for reading. <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW:** Suicidal themes persist throughout this one.

_“I don't know 'bout this, what's wrong with using a rifle?” Arthur tested the weight of the bow in his hands._

_“I've told you during our lessons, this is silent, won't startle other game in the area.” Charles held out an arrow for Arthur, his other hand pointed towards a grazing deer in the distance._

_Stay low, control your breathing, just like you do with a rifle.”_

_“It would've been dead already if you'd let me use my rifle.” Arthur's gloved fingers wrapped around the arrow, brought it to his bow and notched it._

_“You are in a foul mood today.” Snow softly cracked under Charles' feet as he moved forward a few steps._

_Arthur huffed. “I'm cold, hungry and just got an earful from Dutch.”_

_“We all are.” Charles pointed out._

_Arthur let out a heavy sigh. “I know, 'm sorry, ain't your fault.” Arthur nodded at the bow in his hands. “Thank you, for teaching me again.”_

_“We'll get through this, together, like we always have.” Charles rested a hand on his shoulder, gave him a light squeeze._

_“Sons of Dutch and all that.” Arthur smirked._

_“I meant as brothers. I'll always have your back, you saved my life and convinced Dutch to accept me in the gang. I'll never forget that.” Charles said._

_Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “Anyone would've done the same.”_

_Charles shook his head. “They wouldn't have. You don't see it but you're a good man, better than most.”_

_Arthur snorted. “No I ain't. Let's get that deer before Pearson skins and cooks us instead.”_

~~~

The pressure which crushed his windpipe disappeared seconds before he lost consciousness. Arthur fell, fast and hard. First his feet touched the ground, then his knees, followed by the rest of his body as he landed on his side. His mind had been ready to surrender, his body not so much. A pathway opened for his lungs to draw in as much air as they could. Every breath was a battle, ragged with high pitched wheezes.

The noose still tormented him, he gargled around it's restrictive hold. Arthur's hands reached for his throat, a reflex to relieve himself from the painful obstruction around his neck. His attempt was taken from him, hands held his arms down. He tried to speak but his throat refused. Invasive hands moved his limbs around. He couldn't stop them, couldn't do anything but cough and suffer as his body worked hard. It was too much, his vision slowly darkened. 

~~~

Arthur opened his eyes, everything around him had changed, he was higher up, moving. Through blurry vision he recognized Artemis under him, closer than she should be. He was slouched, her mane brushed against his cheek as she trotted forwards. At first he couldn't understand why it was hard to move. He coughed again, felt the tightness around his middle when his chest expanded. 

Rope.

It was wrapped around his middle, another holding his wrists in front of him. Much to his dismay the noose was still around his neck, tight as before, but he could breathe, somewhat. 

Anything beyond his body and his horse was a complete blur, his vision too hazy to recognize the shapes around him. He wasn't alone, but he couldn't tell who with. Once more a captive to unwelcome assailants. He swayed in the saddle, if he kept his eyes closed he could maintain his balance, somewhat.

They rode and rode, it went on for what felt like hours. Every time he leaned dangerously to one side, close to falling off the saddle, there were hands ready to straighten him. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone, that he could steady himself if they hadn't rendered his arms useless. Even the weakest of sounds were nightmarish for his throat. Weakly garbled syllables, impossible to understand even by himself.

Artemis neighed below him, she stopped. Arthur opened his eyes, blinked past his foggy vision. There were horses around him, a wooden structure, men with guns. The world spun viciously, threatened his already unsteady balance, he wanted to grab on to something. He couldn't reach anything with his wrists pinned to his lower abdomen, too late. The saddle between his legs disappeared, there were no hands to steady him and the ground greeted him. A strangled cry lingered in his throat when he landed with a loud thud. Once again he couldn't breathe, couldn't reach the back of the noose to loosen it, no one helped him. He was left there, lying in dirt and horse piss. He waited, waited for someone to finish him off and end his misery.

Arthur drifted in and out of consciousness, for how long he couldn't tell. He almost succumbed to blissful numbness once more before fingers hooked around the noose. It tightened, they pulled him up by it. His vision darkened when his air supply was cut off. He wanted to beg them to stop, beg them to put a bullet in him, but he could only gurgle. Arthur's legs dragged on behind him and his knees hovered over the ground. They hadn't given him a chance to stand, probably for the best.

~~~

Colm closed his ledger when Jesse and two other men carried Arthur into his room. He motioned for the two to leave, only Jesse remained.

His eyes wandered over Arthur's form. The man's head lolled forwards as he knelt before him, he leaned heavily to one side, on the verge of collapsing. The man looked like he'd been to hell and back. For only having been gone for a little over a week he seemed very gaunt. His clothes were dirty, torn in some places. When Colm crouched down in front of Arthur his nose was overwhelmed with the pungent odor of whiskey.

“Arthur... oh Arthur, my boys told me yours were the only tracks there. Care to tell me why you was trying to kill yourself? I'm assuming the whiskey had something to do with it.”

Arthur hunched over even further. The man's fingers stretched out as far as they could, attempted to reach the noose around his neck. Every breath he took came out as a wheeze, drawn out and strangled. 

Colm watched as Arthur's fingers barely brushed against the rope. More than once had he captured and tortured this man, but he had never seen him so weak and pitiful, it was strange.

“...P-please.” The word which left Arthur's mouth was nothing more than a strangled whisper.

Colm felt no pity, no inclination to help him. He pushed against the rope at the side of Arthur's neck. He couldn't fit his finger under it's tight grip around the man's neck. 

“Please...” Somehow the man managed to sound even more pitiful than the last time he begged.

“Gotta say Arthur, you're putting me on the spot here, what am I to do with ya, hm?” Colm ignored his pleas. The man's suffering still pleasured him, greatly. He had missed it, all those weeks of pretending to give a shit, it was not how he liked to handle things. Every time Arthur entered his room he imagined different ways to torment him. Arthur Morgan had killed many of his men over the years, cost him thousands of dollars in the process. Dutch's precious number one.

A desperate groan came out of the man's mouth, the loudest noise he had managed to produce so far. He still tried, fought against the rope around his arms and wrists as he tried to get to the other one around his neck. 

Colm couldn't help but smile, he missed this a lot. He reached over and loosened the knot at the back of Arthur's neck, not out of pity, he needed some answers.

He crouched down in front of Arthur, cupped the man's in his hand and lifted his head. He tilted it, moved it around with no resistance from the head in his grip. The man's jawline had darkened bruises on it, dried blood had crusted around his split lip.

“Been fighting too I see, who with I wonder.” Colm brushed against a bruise with his knuckles. The grip he had on Arthur's jaw tightened in response to the man's weakened attempt to pull away.

Glazed over blue eyes stared back at him. The mouth below them was agape as it sucked in more air than was previously possible. “N-Noah?” Arthur croaked.

“First you give me what I want, then we'll see about getting you what you need.” Colm loosened his grip but still cupped his chin and kept Arthur's head level. It was hard enough to hear him as is.

“Noah...” Arthur repeated.

Colm shook his head. “What happened to ya after the cabin shootout?”

“V-van der Linde's.”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn't ask who, I asked what.”

“P-prisoner...”

Colm frowned. “Dutch took you prisoner? Don't play games with me Arthur. Did they take you to their camp?”

A slight nod.

“Where is it?”

A head shake.

Colm used his free hand to grab a fistful of Arthur's hair, the other let go of the man's chin. “I said no games, where is it?”

Arthur's mouth opened and closed. He was either unsure or stalled for an appropriate answer.

“Bli- ...blindfolded.”

“How convenient.” Colm narrowed his eyes, weighed his options. It made sense, why would Dutch trust Arthur after the man beat the crap out of him. But he had hesitated to answer. 

“How did you get here?” Colm wanted to ask if he escaped or if Dutch had sent him here, thought it best to not be suggestive in his questioning.

The kneeling man remained still and silent. Does that mean his memory is back? If so, why was he so far up north, alone and drunk as well. Something wasn't right.

“L-let me go.” Arthur whispered.

“Dutch did?” Colm frowned.

A nod.

“Why?” Colm wondered if that meant he hadn't gotten his memory back after all. Would he still be worth the effort then? If Dutch no longer trusts him; then nursing Arthur back to good health would be nothing more than a waste of valuable resources.

Arthur sighed at him and averted his eyes.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you,” Colm snarled. He tightened his grip on the fistful of hair in his hand, which made Arthur grunt from discomfort. Ah yes, that was a good reason to keep him around, the pleasure of tormenting this beast of a man. Less of a beast now, but that could be fixed.

“Why do you want to die, Arthur?” Colm's question caused the pair of blue eyes to snap back and lock with his own.

The man glared at him as his lips tightened to form a straight line.

Colm nodded. “I'll find out soon enough.” He released his grip on Arthur's hair and patted him on his cheek.

“Hm...” Colm's fingers rubbed against his stubble while his eyes studied Arthur. He wondered how to best handle this. Arthur no longer seemed trustworthy, there were so many possible scenarios at work here, too many. Perhaps Dutch had let the man go so he could come here and assassinate him. No. He knew Dutch, they were similar in the sense that they'd want to be the one who killed the other. Just like he would want to be there to see the life drain out of Dutch's eyes, he knew the man would want to do the same to him. Arthur wasn't here to kill him. 

The young doctor then, those two liked each other, a lot. It made sense that he came back for him, but not that Dutch would willingly send him off. His old friend would never let his precious lap dog go, especially not to join his rivals. Something else was at work here, and Arthur was the only one who had the answers. 

He had expected Arthur to give up the location to the ranch over a week ago. It was the reason why he tripled the amount of men who guarded the ranch. Either Dutch knew and waited for the opportune moment to strike, or Arthur hadn't said anything. Perhaps he played both sides? No, not Arthur Morgan, the man ain't dumb as rocks but he's also not capable of such an elaborate scheme. Or had he misjudged him? 

The best option would be to let him rest up for a bit, then see if how much of his memories he had recovered, if any. Let the boy tend to him, put him at ease. Then question him, casually or painfully, he'd decide over that later. 

This would be difficult, he still had other scenarios to consider. So many more possible reasons why Arthur was here, bruised and beaten, and why he had tried to end his own life. Curiosity almost got the better of him, he wanted to demand an answer. No, he had to put it off until later. If anything the young doctor would be more likely to get some answers out of him. 

Colm nodded to himself, satisfied with the conclusion he reached. 

“Take him to his room, get two of our best to watch him at all times. I'll send the boy up when he's back.” His gaze was locked on Arthur while Jesse lifted him up by his arms and pulled him outside. 

~~~

Arthur struggled to keep up with Jesse's fast pace. When they reached the stairs the man grabbed hold of the noose and dragged him up that way. His only choice was to keep up or be painfully strangled, he was being strangled, painfully. With the alcohol out of his system every step and every breath lit a fire of agony from within. When he thought he was about to black out the floor ahead finally leveled, they made it up the stairs.

He was thrown to the floor in the hallway like some plaything. A boot collided with his side, added to the pain he already experienced. Arthur only managed to take a few deep breaths before he was pulled to his knees and his air supply got cut off again. 

Why? He wanted to ask the question, tried, he gargled, couldn't form any words no matter how hard he tried. They were friends, what changed? His lungs fought to draw in air through the narrow passageway, his mind wanted to give in to the coming darkness. But as always his body refused and continued it's battle for survival. Arthur's heartbeat pounded away in his ears, it muffled every word which came out of Jesse's mouth, all he gathered was that the man sounded angry.

He was dragged forward some more until the hold around his neck loosened, if only a bit, previously drowned out words now became clear.

“...-that later with Colm. Just know that I'll be voting to torture the shit out of you, Morgan.” Jessie spat out his name.

He was shoved in, with no arms to use he couldn't steady himself and almost crashed headfirst against the foot of his bed.

“I ain't gonna forgive ya for getting my brother killed, I know you lured them Van der Linde's to that cabin. Colm don't believe it, but I do.” Jesse said.

Arthur wanted to tell him that he hadn't lured anyone, but it sounded like the words would have been a waste of precious air. 

Another kick to his side, more vicious than the last. He doubled over on the ground and cried out, the sound rendered pathetically low through his abused throat. Fingers stretched as they tried to reach the rope around his neck, they brushed against it, couldn't get under it, it was too tight. 

“That one was for Owen, I'll be sending a lot more of them your way, just you wait.” Jesse threatened.

There was so much malice in Jesse's voice, he expected another explosion of pain to hit him any second, it never came. Arthur heard the door slam shut, then a lock turned. Pointless, he thought, it's not like he had any energy left to get up and leave. Nowhere to go either, so many people hated him, and soon there would be one more.

He was here, at the ranch, not even by his own doing but somehow had made it here regardless. It was the will of the spirits, Charles would have said.

"Charles..." Arthur whispered through wheezed breaths.

He remembered being up in the Grizzlies a year ago, but not why he was there.

Distant shouts drew him deeper into the forest until he came across a group of inbred filth. They surrounded a dark skinned man, called him all sorts of nasty things as they attempted to subdue him.

The man was strong, fought fiercely and took several of them down before they overpowered him. They continued to taunt him with their nasty words about his origin, it angered Arthur. They continued to beat the feller while he was down and bound, that angered him more. Despicable and dishonorable inbred scum, they deserved to die, and die they did as he shot them down, one by one.

As soon as he untied the man he was tackled to the floor with a knife to his throat. Feller was still panicked and ready to fight for his life. They stared at each other in silence, one man ready to kill, the other not ready to be killed. 

_“Arthur Morgan.”_ He softly said, an introduction. The only words he could muster in the hopes to not have his throat cut open.

The wildness in the fellers eyes died down and the knife against his throat was withdrawn. Feller sat up on his knees, still straddled him as his eyes darted from corpse to corpse. 

_“You saved my life, why?”_ The stranger got up, offered him a hand, he accepted.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. _“Seemed like the right thing to do.”_

 _“I must repay my debt to you.”_ The man said.

Arthur bit back a laugh, the words sounded ridiculous to him, but he wanted not to offend the man.

_“You don't owe me nothing, mister.”_

_“Charles Smith.”_

_Arthur tipped his hat at him. “Pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Smith. You be well now.”_ He headed off, but the feller followed him. He spun around, faced the man again, held out his arms to stop him.

_“Look Mr. Smith, don't get the wrong idea here, I'm a bad man and I'm into some nasty business, you don't want no part in that.”_

_“Your business is your own, but I must do this. It would be dishonorable to walk away and bring shame to my soul.”_

Arthur frowned at him, more customs he felt ignorant towards. The man was big and strong, a great fighter for sure. Perhaps he could be a good addition to their group. He would really have to sell it to Dutch, his mentor was wary of strangers if he hadn't seen them in action for himself.

 _“Alright then Mr. Smith, you ever robbed a stage?”_ Arthur smirked.

“Charles...” Arthur repeated. Why could he suddenly remember the man? Their first encounter, the time he hunted with him, the more he thought about it, the more memories flooded his mind. It was all true, there was a time when they were good friends, just as he suspected. But why only Charles? He tried to think about the others, mostly Hosea, Dutch and Colm, there was nothing. Micah, that bastard, now a mangled mess for Dutch to deal with. Still nothing, he knew he was with him at the Strawberry massacre but that was as far as he got. Not even a flash of a memory of anyone but Charles. Why? Would it get better soon?

Arthur sighed. It no longer mattered, he had turned his back on the Van der Linde's. His attacks on them, the chaos he caused, it was a miracle that he was allowed to leave at all.

He was faced with the same dilemma here. Colm seemed suspicious of him and now he was suspicious of Colm. Something wasn't right, there were lies, Colm never mentioned that he was part of the Van der Linde gang. Did he defect? Was he a dirty rat just like Micah? The thought sent bile up into his throat. It would make sense, only a dishonorable piece of shit would rat out his friends. The same piece of shit who would shoot up a town of innocent folk.

Arthur closed his eyes, he was, no; he _is_ a piece of shit.

 _“I'll send the boy up when he's back.”_ Colm's words echoed in his mind.

Noah would be here soon, face to face with him, worried over his pathetic existence. He'd care for him, tend to his needs, waste energy on him. He didn't deserve it, his care nor his friendship.

He is a rat, a murderer of innocent people, good people. People like Noah.

Arthur's breath became increasingly labored. He opened his eyes, they rapidly darted around. He couldn't face him, if that made him a coward too, then so be it. Hell was the only place where he belonged.

He struggled against the ropes that held him, he had to free himself, had to end it before anyone came back to stop him. He lost control over his lungs, in-out, it was too fast, made him light headed.  
The tightness in his chest, his quickened heartbeat, his body was overwhelmed. Darkness in the corner of his eyes, it came fast. No, no, no. Not now, please. He had to get out, couldn't fa-. 

Arthur's lungs couldn't keep up, the noose already made it harder to breathe, the pain and everything else made it worse. His brain reacted in the only way it could to preserve itself. Arthur was helpless to stop his body as it went limp, no longer conscious as his eyes rolled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. I'm back at it. Hope you can find something you like about this chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience, much love to all of you. <3


	27. Chapter 27

Noah thanked the two men who accompanied him. The pair jumped off the wagon as soon as it ground to a halt outside the stables. This was the second time Colm had allowed him to ride in to town for supplies since his recovery. He wasn't allowed to go alone, out of fear for more Van der Linde's, Colm had said. He understood, was grateful for the added protection.

His brush with death had been a close a call, very close. Other than a few still very sore ribs and his first few scars, he had managed to make a full recovery, to his surprise he hadn't lost a single digit to the cold. Colm had gotten the best doctor he could find to look after him, yet another thing he was grateful for.

Jesse raised his hand as he approached. “Colm wants to see ya, I'll get some men to unload the wagon.”

“Thanks Jesse,” a small smile appeared on Noah's lips. “How's the rash on your arm?”

“Ointment's doing the trick, last time I'll be taking cover inside a bunch of nettles.” Jesse complained.

Noah let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, that wasn't the best plan, at least you weren't naked.”

Jesse pulled a face of horror at him. “Shit.”

Noah nodded. “Yep, I've had to treat someone for that.”

Jesse leaned in closer to him and whispered. “Who was it? George? That fella's a real yokel.”

Noah playfully shoved him back. “Doctor patient privilege, I'm not telling you anything.”

Noah smiled when Jesse lightly shoved him against his shoulder, Noah retrieved his satchel from the wagon.

“Hey, one second, let me see.” He lifted the bottom of Jesse's shirt so he could inspect the bullet wound which had almost pierced the man's spleen during a shoot out they had with the Van der Linde's.

“Ain't no big deal, hardly feel it, I won't forget you saving my life, doc.” Jesse gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

Noah smiled at him. The man had grown overly protective of him ever since, kept the others off his back when needed, even helped with some of his daily chores. Just like Arthur had.

Arthur. 

It had been so long since he had last spoken to his friend. Every evening he sat down on the log which Arthur had picked as his private spot away from the ranch. Every time he sat there he hoped the man would stroll back into camp as if nothing happened. But Colm had told him that they'd likely never see him again.

Never.

Such a daunting word. To know that he'll never again be graced by those sky blue eyes again. That beautiful gruff voice which resided inside the body of a gentle, but damaged soul. Never would he get the chance to share how he truly felt towards him. An ugly word, indeed.

Noah stopped in front of Colm's door, before he knocked he once more prayed that Colm had summoned him to give him the okay to go look for Arthur. He wanted to at least give the man a proper burial. The makeshift grave he had marked in the woods didn't feel quite right. It was as hollow as the closure he so desperately sought.

He had begged Colm many times, his requests always declined. _'I need you here, can't risk the Van der Linde's getting their hands on you again.'_ He knew Colm was referring to his skill in medicine, but it wouldn't be too hard for him to find another doctor. Maybe Colm did take a liking to him, at least that was what he told himself. Colm had also assured him that he had several groups of men who searched for Arthur on a daily basis, he wasn't sure if there was truth behind that statement, he'd seen first hand that Colm considered all but a few of his men as disposable. But Arthur, next to Jesse and Owen had gotten one of their best rooms, so surely he must have cared for him.

It always struck him as strange, that in the months before Arthur showed up here, Colm had never mentioned him. The room hadn't even been his. So maybe he didn't care after all, only interested in the man's skills as a fighter, but still easily disposable. It was always hard to tell with Colm.

Noah inhaled deeply, knocked on the door, entered when he heard the okay from the inside.

“Mr. O'Driscoll.” Noah closed the door behind him.

Colm hadn't returned his greeting, went on a rant about the pain he felt from an old injury in his side, he listened, nodded when it was appropriate. 

When Colm mentioned the words Arthur, here and injured in the same sentence, Noah had forgotten how to breathe. It felt as if the entire room rapidly closed in on him.

Why had the man waited so long to tell him? It took everything he had to not bolt out the door, but Colm had more instructions for him. Take care of him, keep him happy, do not allow him to leave his room until told otherwise. 

Words. Too many words which stood between him and that which he thought he'd never see again. He just wanted to go, wanted to bolt up the stairs and throw his arms around Arthur. The injured part concerned him, he'd experienced the wrath of Dutch Van der Linde first hand and feared the worst for Arthur, but if it was life threatening then surely Colm wouldn't have spent so long talking about his old wound. 

Colm was still talking, something about Arthur trying to kill himself. Noah's eyes widened, the seated man now had his full attention.

“He what?” Noah croaked, he cleared his throat, hadn't realized his mouth had suddenly dried out.

“He's upstairs, in need of a physician. Tell me if you think we should keep a close eye on him or if needed, keep him restrained. I'll be trusting your judgment on that, doubt you want to see anything bad happen to him.” Colm said.

"Thank you, Mr. O'Driscoll." Noah waited for the nod which told him he was allowed to leave.

He practically bolted up the stairs. There were two guards outside the door, not a good sign. Noah's hands tightly gripped his medicine satchel. The only thing which stood between Arthur and himself was a flimsy wooden door. A door which the guards took forever to unlock for him.

“Arthur...” At first he gasped, but then his brows knit together at the realization that they'd left him bound. He wasn't conscious, every breath sounded like it was a battle to take. The older man stirred as soon as he loosened the noose, it was tight, too tight. Colm couldn't have been that concerned then, unless this was punishment, but why punish a man for being kidnapped?

Thoughts for later.

Right now all that mattered was Arthur's well being. He had to focus on being a doctor first and a friend later. Noah got to work on the rest of the knots, until the older man was finally free. He couldn't see any blood on Arthur's clothes. Only dirt and stains, no doubt remnants of the whiskey which currently burned through Noah's nostrils. No head injuries either, the welts around his throat didn't look so good. Worse than the kind he should see from a man who just had a tight rope around it. It looked like he was strung up by his neck.

“Oh Arthur...” Noah carded a hand through Arthur's grimy hair but he quickly withdrew it. 

No, later.

Noah fished through his satchel, knew he had the right ointment to ease the burning Arthur would no doubt feel around his throat. After that was done he needed several attempts to roll the larger man over, Noah cursed his own weakened state. Arthur's weight loss became more evident when he had a full frontal view of him. His skin was pale, too pale. Sunken eyes, a pained expression on the man's face and a collar bone which was no longer hidden underneath a healthy layer of body fat.

He carefully lifted one the man's eyelids, diluted pupils, could be from the alcohol. Why were you drinking so much, Arthur?

Focus.

Noah carefully applied pressure to various area's on Arthur's side and chest. The was a reaction when he touched a spot on the man's right side. He unbuttoned his shirt and frowned at the cut on Arthur's stomach. No infection, few days old. A belt? Seemed to deep for that, but too shallow for a knife, strange. He checked his side, the area which got him a reaction, a bruise, fresh, very fresh. Noah shook his head. His inspection moved further down. Legs, he applied some pressure and traced his hands from Arthur's thighs to his ankles. Noah kept an eye on the older mans face as he did so, no reaction, good.

“Arthur?” Noah gently shook him. “Can you help me? Need you to sit up.” He tried, pushed, pulled, but even a lighter Arthur was too much for him to lift. The older man hadn't responded either, still out like a light as he was.

With a heavy sigh Noah glanced at the door and opened it. “I need your help to lift him on the bed.” Noah told the two guards.

The guards stared at each other and seemed to have no intentions of moving to help him.

“Mr. O'Driscoll wants him cared for, I'll go inform him that you're refusing to help.” Noah took a step forward, one man stopped him, grumbled something but nodded. 

The guard entered and lifted Arthur with relative ease. He dumped the older man face first on the bed and rolled him over.

Noah nodded his thanks at the guard and waited for the man to leave again. 

He removed the older man's boots, stroked a finger over the smaller wounds around his ankles, friction marks. He found the same ones around his wrists, worse even. Chafed skin, previously treated but abused again after. The cruelty of men. He got to work on applying ointments where needed, cleaned out any injuries which had broken through skin. Arthur hadn't moved, his wheezes the only indication that his breathing had slowed, that he was still asleep.

Noah left to get some hot water, took his time to do so, thought it best to give Arthur some rest. When he returned to the room the bed was empty, his head whipped to the right. Arthur was at the window, perched up on his knees, he had opened it, attempted to lift himself out.

“Arthur, we're too high up, stop!” Noah leaped across the room, grabbed hold of the back of Arthur's shirt and his shoulders, half of the man's body dangled outside as Noah attempted to pull him back. A weakened body fought against an even weaker one.

“Help, I need help!” Noah shouted towards the door. His grip on Arthur waned, for a second he feared he wouldn't be able to hold him back. Thankfully the guards responded fast and dragged them both to the floor.

Noah's bones screamed when the older man's full weight landed on top of him. A strangled cry echoed through the room when an elbow dug into his ribs. Soon enough the weight disappeared and he was able to roll over on his side as he clutched on to his side.

“Sorry... 'm sorry.” Arthur whispered. He had his back pressed against the wall, knees drawn closer to his chest while his hoarse voice kept repeating those words.

“It's okay, I'm fine.” Noah crawled closer to him, he reached for Arthur's cheek but the older man pulled away. Noah jerked his hand away, but hovered close to Arthur. He wanted to touch him, hold him, maybe Arthur was in too much pain for it. 

“Arthur, are you in pain? Talk to me please, I'm here to help, it's Noah.”

The older man got to his feet, not without effort. Noah proceeded to do the same, he wasn't sure what to say. This was not how he had expected their reunion to go.

“Arthur.” He repeated, finally his friend looked at him. “Please say something, I want to help you.”

The older man's mouth opened and closed a few times without a word being spoken. He seemed so hurt, afraid even.

“It's okay, you're back at the Ranch, you're safe.” Noah stepped closer and threw his arms around Arthur for a warm hug. To his surprise the gesture wasn't returned. Seemingly unwelcome even as the man flinched from his embrace and kept his own arms at his sides. Another unexpected turn of events. Noah knew he should pull back, but he had longed for this moment for two weeks.

“Doc, you okay?”

Jesse's voice made him pull away from the not so warming embrace. Noah hadn't even realized that one of the guards must have gone down to get him. Now Jesse stood in the doorway with a third guard and a lasso in his hands.

“Jesse, no. Please.” Noah begged. He stood between Arthur and Jesse, not that he could do anything against any of them. Not physically at least.

“You heard Colm, gotta keep him alive. Ain't gonna take the blame if the bastard throws himself outta the window.” Jesse said.

“He won't.” Noah craned his neck to face Arthur. “Tell them you won't.”

When Arthur averted his eyes, Noah felt his chest tighten up.

“Please...” Noah whispered.

“Step aside doc.” Jesse dragged a chair over while the other three advanced towards them.

Noah's shoulders sagged. What choice did he have? They would do this if he wanted to or not. Perhaps it was for the best. He stepped aside and watched as the men pulled Arthur over to the chair without any resistance at all. His wrists were secured behind him by one of them. Another guard used more rope to lash the man's legs together. The remaining rope was then connected to the backrest, until Arthur's feet no longer touched the floor. 

Arthur groaned and squeezed his eyes shut when Jesse wrapped several lengths of rope around his middle. Another length was about to be looped around his neck. To prevent this Noah stepped closer and grabbed hold of Jesse's wrist. 

“No. There is no need for that.” He stared at Jesse with pleading eyes.

Jesse glared at Arthur, it was clear he wanted to make the man as uncomfortable as he could. Noah knew why, he been there when Jesse told him about Owen's fate and how he blamed Arthur for it. 

“Please,” he begged.

Jesse turned his gaze towards him, held it there for a moment before he let out a frustrated sighs. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Noah waited until the four of them left the room. He pulled up the only other empty chair in the room; positioned it opposite of Arthur so he could sit and give his own body a much needed break. 

“Arthur, I'm here for you, if you don't tell me what's wrong then I can't help you. I want to help you, you know that.”

No response.

The older man's head remained lowered. Noah sighed, this situation was beyond his abilities. How can he help someone who doesn't want to be helped?

The silence in the room quickly got on his nerves. To combat this he decided to talk about what had been being going on with himself and around the Ranch since the day Arthur left. He rambled on for a long time until he was eventually cut off mid sentence. 

“S-stop.” Arthur whispered.

“I'm sorry, I-I didn't know what else to do or say, you know I hate silence.” An apologetic smile appeared on his lips.

“G-get out.” Every syllable Arthur uttered sounded like a painstaking effort.

“I'm not leaving you alone.” Noah pressed his lips together and crossed his arms.

Arthur's next attempt at speech was interrupted by a coughing fit.

“I'll get you some water.” Noah leaped up, a bad move on his end. The eagerness to finally have another way to help his friend had not been favorable to his body.

He moved as fast as he could, not as fast as he should. Soon enough he returned to the room with a pitcher full of water and some food. He pulled the small table closer to them and set the items down on top of it.

He heard the smacking of Arthur's lips when he poured the fresh liquid into a glass.

“Here.” He cupped Arthur's chin in one hand while the other brought the glass to his lips.

Arthur pulled his head back and refused to drink.

Noah let out a frustrated sigh, the glass was set back down on the table. He used both his hands to hold Arthur's head up and forced the man to look at him.

“Why won't you let me help you, Arthur?” Noah searched his eyes for something, anything. But his friend averted them again.

“Tell me what you want, Arthur, please.”

“I wanna die.” The older man croaked.

Noah gasped. “No. Why?” Colm was right. That means his attempt to get out through the window was not to escape, it was to... oh no.

Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Did your memory come back? Something bad?” Noah asked.

Arthur's eyes shot open, he must have guessed it right.

“I won't judge you, you can tell me.” Noah softly smiled at him, “I just want you to feel better.”

“I'm s-sorry.” The older man whispered.

“For what?” Noah's brows pulled together, he wished Arthur would just tell him already so he could finally be helpful towards his friend.

“Everything.” Tears welled up in the man's eyes.

“I... I don't understand.” Noah swallowed deeply, a sight so painful to watch it made his own eyes water.

Arthur's eyes lowered, they darted around while his mouth did that thing again where it merely opened and closed without a sound.

Noah turned his head when the door the flew open. It was Colm and Jesse, darn it.

“Out.” Colm stared down at him.

“No, please. I need... I'm not done yet.” Noah gulped when Colm's icy stare pressed down on him, he could see Jesse's non verbal warning. Yes, he shouldn't defy Colm, not now, not ever. But he was so close to finding out what troubled his friend so much.

“Sir, please,” Noah got to his feet. “He needs my help.”

Colm's eyes narrowed even further. Jesse stepped forward, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the door.

“Don't be a fool, doc.” Jesse said.

Noah opened his mouth to reply, stopped by a head shake from the man who had dragged him away. Jesse was right, when Colm wanted something done you'd either do it immediately or you'd likely never do anything again. Doctor or not, he could only push so far with the man and he had already done a lot of that in the recent days.

“Please don't hurt him Mr. O'Driscoll.”

The door was shut in his face and the two guards outside ushered him away from it.

“Just give him what he wants, Arthur. Don't give him a reason to hurt you.” Noah whispered to no one but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to update this story, I'm sorry. I guess I really have lost my momentum for it. But even though this chapter was kinda meh I enjoyed writing it, so maybe that's good news for the future!
> 
> As always, thank you for sticking with it, love you all for doing so! <3


	28. Chapter 28

Colm sat down on the chair which had previously been occupied by Noah. He took the glass of water which the young man had brought up for Arthur and drank it all.

Arthur had kept his head lowered as soon as Jesse and Colm had entered the room. Part of him was relieved when they had. Facing Noah, fighting between the urge to tell him about Strawberry and a more darker desire to lie had been hard.

“So, you ready to tell me where Dutch and his lot are holed up?” Colm asked.

For a mere moment, Arthur glanced up at Colm. He sighed, talking, people, living. He was tired of all of it. Tired of spending almost every waking moment in captivity. Why was it so hard for folk to just leave him alone, even a few hours would be a blessing at this point. Sure he'd been mostly alone on his two day journey to this place. But he'd been so drunk throughout most of it, it's hardly a memory still.

“Answer him.” Jesse snarled as he grabbed a fistful of Arthur's hair and forced his head up.

Too slow to Colm's liking. Man wanted his answer fast and clear.

“I-I don't k-now.” He coughed, attempted to clear his throat. It hurt to speak, hurt so much.

“You do.” Colm leaned forward in his seat. “What'd old Dutch tell ya?”

Arthur hesitated. He didn't care if Colm outright shot him, hell, he'd welcome it. But as much as he felt that he deserved every second of pain he wasn't up for being tortured... again. He now knew that Colm had lied to him about several things. But to confront him could be a mistake.

“Talk, you piece of shit.” Jesse slapped the back of his head.

Jesse was another problem, a new one. The man seemed more than eager to inflict a great deal of pain upon. All for a crime he hadn't committed. Start with something safe to say, see how it goes from there.

“Your rat is dead, Dutch killed him.” He whispered.

Colm frowned at him. “Bell?”

Arthur nodded. “B-bastard tortured me, Dutch got angry w-when he found out.” Shit, his throat. Talking was a torture in itself.

“So even after you beat the shit out of 'ole Dutch the man still cares for you?” Colm asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Almost k-killed 'im three t--times.” he cleared his throat. “Don't trust me.”

“Your memory.” Colm's hand motioned towards Arthur's head.

“Don't believe me, t-thinks it's a lie, that I b-betrayed him t-to join 'ou... you.” For a second Arthur worried that if he continued to talk he'd lose his voice altogether.

“Hm.” Colm's eyes narrowed.

Colm studied him, no doubt to see if he could detect a lie in his expressions, that much was obvious to Arthur.

“Why would he let a supposed traitor go? I know Dutch, he don't take lightly to disloyalty. You should be dead.” Colm stated.

“Almost was. Things g-got chaotic after Micah died, g-got out fast.”

“Good riddance,” Colm smirked. “Man gloats too much, fast with a gun, but weren't trustworthy.”

Arthur let out a small sigh, hoped this was over now. Colm should have no reason to believe he lied, because he hadn't.

“So, who is you loyal to, Arthur?”

“No one.” He replied instantly.

Colm's lips upturned as he nodded. “Then tell me where their camp is.”

“T-told ya, blindfolded.”

“You told me things were chaotic and that you got out fast.”

Shit.

“One more time, boy. Where?” Colm's right hand reached for his knife.

Arthur averted his eyes, he couldn't. A dead Dutch would be great, bastard deserved it. But not the others, the women, the child he'd seen.

He couldn't.

Colm gave Jesse a single nod. The man behind Arthur grabbed him in a light chokehold and forced his head to remain level.

Colm calmly unsheathed his knife and used it to cut open the front of Arthur's shirt.

Arthur whimpered at the sight of it. More pain was coming. He twisted, squirmed and fought against both Jesse and the ropes which held him.

“I find it hard to believe that you ain't loyal to no one but refuse to give me what I want.” Colm moved Arthur's shirt to his sides and rested the tip of his blade against the welt on his stomach.

“Can't, women 'n children.” Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. He had no choice but to be honest, to say he didn't know wouldn't work.

“Always so honorable.” Colm motioned at Jesse with his brows. “Best be keeping it down so we don't worry the good doctor.”

Jesse's free hand clamped his mouth shut. The choke hold tightened and to make matters worse Jesse used his index finger and thumb to pinch his nose shut.

“Mmmhpg!” With nowhere to go Arthur's scream lingered in his throat. A line of crimson red followed behind the blade as Colm pressed against it and traced it over his welt.

His scream died down when Colm had reached the end of it. Jesse immediately loosened the choke hold and freed his nose. But the hand which clamped his mouth shut pressed down harder. 

“Same question, will you tell me? Yes or no.” Colm narrowed his eyes when Arthur refused to answer. “Yes or no, boy.” He snarled.

Arthur's nostrils widened with every breath he took, he shook his head.

“You're a good soldier Arthur, I don't want to do this. Give me what I want and I'll let you rest, spend some time with the good doctor, everything you need.”

Another head shake, this one more hesitant than the first.

“Have it your way.”

He sobbed when the pointy end of the knife touched his stomach again. This time above the previous wound. Another long but shallow cut across his stomach. Again his air supply was cut off and muffled his pain filled scream.

“How did Dutch find out that Micah Bell was working for me?”

Finally Colm asked a question he could answer without getting innocent folk killed.

“I told him.”

“Why?” Colm's brows pulled together.

“Angry... bastard tortured me. For f-fun.” He closed his eyes. The memory, the horrible sound that god damned beating stick made every time it impacted against his skin, the pain which followed. It was all so fresh in his mind.

“I never mentioned his name to ya.”

Arthur lowered his head, the questions were rapidly heading into a territory he'd rather not venture towards.

“What did you remember?” Colm asked.

When Arthur refused to answer, both men worked in tandem. Instead of his stomach Colm had chosen to attack a different area of his body. A sharp stinging agony erupted in his side as the edge of the knife tore open a long, deep cut. The tormentor behind him had simultaneously removed his ability to breathe. It continued to effectively silence him.

Every fiber of his body fought against the explosion of pain, the lack of oxygen, the ropes that held him. His efforts were in vain, if he hadn't been weak already, he would still have been as defenseless as he was now. When his screams died down and turned into pain filled sobs, Jesse still had not granted him the ability to breathe. It continued even after the edges of his vision started to blur. Unconsciousness almost greeted him.

If only.

It was as if the man behind him could sense that he was about to fade away into blissful nothingness. Jesse loosened his hold on Arthur and allowed his lungs to work as fast as they could to fill themselves with air. 

It stung so much, worse with every labored breath he took. He truly had enough of this, sure he'd suffered through worse in the last week, but his body was as done as his mind. Incoherent mumbles against the hand which covered his mouth caused it to pull away. He could now speak freely. 

“I k-know...” He sighed, this would be it, Colm would surely kill him, end his misery. “Know I was a Van der Linde... y-you lied.”

Colm's attention moved from the blade against his belly to his eyes. Arthur closed his own, waited for the inevitable pain of the weapon as it would be plunged into some part of him. He hoped it would be quick. 

“Then I suppose you're no longer useful to me. Such a shame.” Colm said.

When the last pain he'd ever feel never came, Arthur wanted to open his eyes. A part of him feared that was exactly what Colm waited for. But the silence, the inability to stare into Colm's eyes and at least get an idea of what the man would do next tempted him to look.

He carefully opened his eyes, surprised to see the blank stare on Colm's face. There seemed to be no indication that he was about to die. It left him wondering if that was good or bad. His gaze lowered down to the blade which now rested flatly on Colm's thigh as the man held on to it.

His lips quivered while his mouth worked to get some saliva down his itchy and abused throat. Jesse had tightened the choke hold on him, enough for his arm to uncomfortably press against Arthur's windpipe.

“G-go on then, k-kill me.” He croaked.

The words re-kindled a spark in Colm's eyes as they glanced up to meet his own, narrowed as they were.

The arm around his neck disappeared only to hold his head up by his hair. He hissed when within a split second Jesse had a knife of his own pressed against Arthur's throat.

“Say the word boss, I'll do it with pleasure.” Jesse growled.

Colm leaned in closer to Arthur with a snarl on his face.

“No. That's exactly what he wants, don't ya Arthur?”

Swallowing had been a mistake, Jesse's razor sharp blade undoubtedly left a cut behind as his Adams-apple moved up and down. How did Colm even expect him to reply like this. 

“Why _did_ my boys find you alone in the woods swinging from a tree?”

“Speak up, Morgan.” Jesse demanded.

He hissed when he could feel a drop of what no doubt would be blood slither down his neck. If Jesse pressed a bit harder he was sure he'd have no voice left to speak with. Counterproductive to what they want, he thought.

“That's enough. Don't kill him.” Colm ordered.

A snort from behind him, the blade no longer dangerously close to cutting his neck open. But the look on Colm's face told him it would probably be temporary reprieve.

“We'll see if you're more talkative after I leave you two alone for a bit.” Colm said as he rose up and made his way to the door. “He best not be dead after my dinner.”

“...Wait.” God. It was a whisper, he strained to hear it himself. He had to try again, the idea of being alone with Jesse's resentment means there would only be more pain, a lot of it. 

“Colm... w-wait.” He managed to raise his voice, if only by a small margin. At least it had worked, Colm stopped with one hand on the doorknob and turned his head to face him.

“This had better be good, Arthur. I'm hungry.” Colm complained.

“Found out, it was me. In... Stra- Strawberry, with Micah.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“You? Wha-” Colm cut himself off and paused for a moment. “The shoot-out, you broke Bell out of jail.”

A few footsteps indicated Colm had closed the distance between them. He couldn't look, the man was smart, he'd figure it out within seconds.

“Why would that make you want to kill yourse-” Colm's excited gasp clearly indicated the man had a revelation of some sort. “Well well, what are the chances,” he smirked.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, tighter than before. It pushed the small amount of water which had built up in his tear ducts down towards his cheeks. 

“Just kill me already...” He softly said.

“And deny the good doctor the chance to finally solve the mystery and face the man who had done him an injustice? I think not.”

Arthur's head snapped towards Colm, eyes wide in fear. “No...” He whispered, “please don't.”

It was too late, Colm had already opened the door and summoned Noah. The young doctor was inside the room within seconds, he must have waited right outside to be there so fast.

“No... Why would you hurt him again?!” Noah had only managed a few steps towards him before Colm grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back.

“Ah ah, that's not why you're here.” Colm said. Bastard had a nasty lopsided grin on his face.

“I don't understand.” Noah's head switched between all the men in the room.

“Mr. Morgan here has a bit of confession. Go on then.” Colm motioned at him.

He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. Not like this, not here in front of everyone, preferably not at all but if he had to, it was a private matter. Not something to discuss while he was bleeding and bound to a chair.

“Fine, then I'll tell him if you think that's better.” Colm said, his mouth already opened again and prepared to make good on his promise.

“No. I...” He silently cursed at Colm. It would be so much worse if Colm said it instead of him. He finally understood that he owed Noah at least that much. A few deep breaths, every other sense in his body became a dull throb as his mind could only feel the pain of the confession he was about to make. The dread he felt had been worse than the fear of being tortured. This was true torture, and if Colm or Noah wouldn't kill him for it, then it would only get worse from here on.

He owes it to Noah.

“I...I'm responsible f-for your fathers d-death.” How pathetic he sounded. Resigned and defeated, at the mercy of every other man in the room. Including his own dark thoughts.

“What?” Noah's eyes darted from left to right as he stared at him. “Y-you killed him?” He stammered.

Arthur nodded. “I... freed the man who did... helped him.”

“It's not true.” Noah quietly said.

“It is...” Watery eyes couldn't turn away from the younger man, he had to see his reaction. He just had to.

“Ain't that a big ole piece of irony, Doctor Yates?” Colm continued. “The one man you open up your life to, being the same one who ended your father's.”

Arthur and Noah stared at each other. One pair of blue eyes filled with fear and regret, the other overcome with disbelief.

“I'm sorry...” He whispered. He wished he had the strength to say more, but he didn't. What could he even say to make it better?

“No!” Noah yelled, eyes locked in a steely resolve. “You're monsters, all of you!”

Arthur watched as the young man pulled himself free from Colm's grip and stormed out of the door. A monster, he called him. Noah was right, he was a monster, is a monster. But if he knows that, why does it still feel like a bullet had drilled into his heart and left a gaping hole?

“Well... that was certainly something.” Colm said as he clasped his hands together. “I'd leave it at this but I think you need a lesson for not answering as soon as you're asked. Now I'm late for dinner because of it.”

Arthur sobbed when Colm nodded at Jesse and left him alone in the room with the man.

Monsters. All of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not feeling this one. Probably related to sleeping for 2-4 hours a night in the last week. I made a note to come back to this one and maybe change some bits later on.
> 
> Would love to hear what you think, and if this chapter feels off to you as well.
> 
> Hope you all have a great day / night! Thank you for reading as always. You are all wonderful people.


	29. Chapter 29

Noah's gaze lingered somewhere ahead of him while he absentmindedly stirred the boiled stew. The only thing which averted his eyes towards the stairs leading up, were the occasional screams from above. Even then it felt as if he were void of all emotions.

“Where the hell is my food, boy?!” Colm had emerged from his room for the umpteenth time.

He stared at Colm with puffy eyes, unafraid, uncaring. Even when the man's menacing stride brought him closer and closer, with eyes ever so narrowed.

“It's ready.” He said with a voice as uncaring as he felt.

“Then serve it.” Colm snarled, his back already turned to the young doctor.

“Serve yourself.” He tossed the ladle into the pot, sending bits of it's liquid contents flying.

Colm stopped dead in his tracks, the man didn't turn, merely craned his neck around with a vicious snarl on his face.

He still felt no fear.

Colm's mouth opened and closed, angry words came out, many of them. But another scream from above had drawn his attention, drowned out every other noise. Remorse, that was the thing he'd normally feel, a desire to intervene.

There was nothing.

Slowly his eyes landed back on Colm, still the man's mouth moved. Anger, is that what he should feel right now? He had, for a moment, until he descended the stairs after Arthur's confession. But by the time he set foot on level ground, he was empty. Dead on the inside.

Colm stepped even closer, filled his own plate with food and left.

Noah could feel the tears stream down his face. How could he be empty and crying at the same time? Were they tears of anger, sadness, a mixture of both? He had no idea. He just stood there, stared down the now empty corridor ahead of him. When Jesse walked down the stairs he was finally pulled out of his trance like state.

“All yours doc.” Jesse crouched down in front of a bucket next to the kitchen counter. Blood covered knuckles turned what little water was left in it, red.

Noah's eyes were fixated on them, remorse, regret, compassion. Had he lost his ability to feel? His gaze went up as Jesse rose to his feet.

“You alright?” Jesse dried his hands on the edge of his pants.

“Fine.” He said, that would be his answer from now on. Fine, he'd always be fine.

“Fix him up will ya? I ain't done with him yet.” Jesse patted him on the shoulder, now more interested in the hot stew over anything else.

Fix him up so I can hurt him some more. The words of an uncaring monster. He was uncaring as well. It made him wonder if that meant he had now become exactly that.

Noah's hand hovered close to the strap of his satchel. He'd have to go upstairs, that was his job. To help one monster feel better so another monster could torture him again.

“What did you do to him?” The hand which almost reached for his satchel was now at his side.

Jesse slightly choked on the food he'd been eating, clearly a question he hadn't expected.

“I beat him. Couple in the face, some more in the guts. Don't think I broke nothing, ain't too sure.” Jesse shrugged.

“Just let him rest for a bit, then you can get back to... _enjoying_ yourself.” He took a step towards the front door, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Where is you going?” 

“I need fresh air. Or is that not allowed?” He spat.

Jesse let go of him. “Boss cut him up pretty good, we got orders to keep him alive.”

“ _You_ got orders. Put some pressure on it until the bleeding stops.” Noah instructed, his hand now on the doorknob.

“Won't it get infected?” Jesse asked.

“Colm didn't say how long he had to live.” Noah shrugged, “he'll live for now.” With that he was out the door. He expected to feel sick after what he said, but he didn't. Infection, septic, fever, death. He knew exactly what would happen, knew exactly how to attempt to treat it. But he was sick of helping evildoers continue to do their evil. The stables were his goal, he crept in from the side, nodded at one of the stable hands. He knew he wasn't allowed to leave, not without an escort, but at the same time he knew they wouldn't shoot him for doing so anyways. 

Noah mounted the first still saddled horse he saw, a startled yelp from a hand and a few angry shouts from the guards hadn't stopped him. He rode off, hard and fast, Colm's anger would be a concern for later, if ever.

He rode for several hours, until the air got colder as the sun lowered further and further behind the horizon. A sign on his left indicated he was close. Strawberry, it read. The last turn towards the main road leading into the small town was ahead of him, but he veered off to a smaller path on his right. Uphill, towards a more densely forested area. Upon his arrival he made sure to hitch his horse up, something he often forgot in the past. He retrieved the small bushel of flowers which he had gathered on his way over. 

“Hello father.” He crouched, placed the flowers down in front of the gravestone. His fingers were entangled together as he rose up and muttered a short prayer. Afterward, he let out a heavy sigh.

“I'm lost.” He finally said to the stone while a fresh set of tears built up.

“As am I. Perhaps we could help each other?”

Noah jumped out of his skin when the voice of an elderly man rang out from behind him. He turned in fear, expected an O'Driscoll, but saw no telltale signs of green on the gentleman. The man's neckerchief was red, his vest blue. Too well dressed and clean looking for one of Colm's men. Noah used his sleeves to wipe the tears away and cleared his throat.

“Sorry mister, you startled me.”

“My apologies.” The older man dismounted his horse, not without effort.

Noah knew he should thread carefully, be on alert for anyone like Colm told him to be. But he hardly moved when the man walked up and stopped next to him. Noah turned to face the same direction as he, towards his fathers grave.

“Daniel Yates. Born in forty-five, died in ninety-eight. Family?” The man asked.

“My father.” He quietly answered.

“A most unfortunate thing that is, having to say goodbye to family.” The older man removed his hat, held it against his chest.

“Yeah.” Noah turned his head away from him and towards the grave.

“Overcoming that feeling of being lost when a loved one leaves you, is no easy feat.”

“Pardon my boldness mister, but it sounds like you've been there.”

“I have, she...” The man's voice trailed off, his head lowered for a few moments until he seemed to find himself again.

“She was a special lady. My sweet Bessie.” The man continued.

“H-how did you... move on?”

“I was drunk for a whole year.” A small smile appeared in the corner of the man's mouth. “After that... well, my duties kept me focused, and the support of my family and friends. Even then it's still hard.”

“I ain't got none of those things.” Noah sighed.

“No mother?” The older man turned his head towards him.

“Died giving birth to me. Don't have any other family, or anyone else. Well... I had a friend, but then I found out he's a bad man,” he shrugged. “I mean, I knew he was before that, kind of. But today it really dawned on me.”

“There's different degrees of bad, son. My wife knew what kind of life I lived, not a good one. But she accepted it, and we continued to love each other, through better or worse.”

“Yeah but did you kill her father?” The tears slowly returned.

“No. But I killed her.” The older man continued when Noah's head turned towards him. “The life I choose, got her killed.” The man cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry for your loss, I think. I'm not sure if I still mean it, not sure if I can still ever feel again.” He poked a small rock with his foot. He knew he cried, which meant he must still feel something. But what?

“Do you feel betrayed?” The man asked.

Noah's brows pulled together, the man seemed awfully clairvoyant. Wisdom comes with age, his father always told him, still, the man seemed to have hit the nail on the head with those words. He nodded.

“I've discovered there are little things which hurt more than when someone you love, betrays you.” The man turned his head from left to right, searched for something.

“Sounds like you've had that happen to you as well.” Noah's head followed his lead, curious as to what he looked for. The elderly man must have found it because he walked away, only for a few steps and sat down on an tree stump. Noah joined him, didn't sit, but stood close out of politeness.

“Quite recently, unfortunately. My oldest friend almost killed our s-” The man hesitated to continue.

“It's okay mister, I'm a doctor, well, my father was. I think I am too now.” Noah assured him.

The man chuckled. “Doctor patient privacy and all that?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged his shoulders at him.

“Melvin.” The older man held his hand out.

Noah hesitated to shake it, something felt off about this man. He openly admitted to not be an upstanding citizen. It seemed odd that he'd volunteer his name, even if only the first. It's a fake you idiot, has to be.

“N- Nathan.” He lied, then shook the man's hand.

“Quite the noble profession you have there, _Nathan_.” Melvin emphasized his name. It seemed that both men sensed the truth about each other.

“There's nothing noble about helping a bunch of monsters.” He scoffed.

“Long ago, I met a gunsmith who uttered those exact words.”

Noah's raised brows prompted the man to continue.

“He sold a repeater to a feller whom he later spotted robbing a stagecoach, right outside town. That was it for him, he was ready to hang up his hat and sell his shop.”

“Understandable. I kinda feel like doing that.” Noah sat down in the grass.

“But he didn't. You know why? Because later that day, he spotted that same young feller handing out food to a couple of homeless folk.” Melvin had a smirk on his face.

“Hm.” Noah scratched the back of his neck. “I'm not sure what the lesson here is.”

“On that day, the gunsmith learned that you can't judge a book by it's cover. Life is more complicated than just drawing a line between good and bad. That young feller, did a little bad so he could do more good later.”

“If the young man wanted to do good, why did he steal and hurt innocents?”

“No amount of honest work can feed a camp full of hungry people. Or a town full of hungry children. That young feller worked hard to not only provide for his family, but strangers too. As for the innocents, no one in that stagecoach was an innocent. It belonged to a very rich man, a transport to pay off a band of degenerates he hired to do his dirty work.”

“Sounds like you knew this robber.”

“He's my son.” Melvin smiled at that. “Or... was.” The smile faded faster than it had surfaced.

“He died?” Noah looked up at him.

Melvin shook his head. “He got lost. Found us again not long ago, but then his other father almost killed him and chased him away. I've been looking for him since.”

Noah could see the pain and sadness in the man's eyes. Heard it in his voice too. Part of him wanted to find the right words to console the man. But he was young and this man was not, surely there would be no words which would aid him at all. At least not from some young whippersnapper like himself.

“My father was visited regularly by a very questionable man. To treat an old injury of his.” Noah decided to change the subject, hoped that would keep Melvin's sadness at bay.

His gesture hadn't gone unnoticed. Melvin eyed him with interest, a corner of the man's lips curled up ever so slightly.

“One day I asked him why he continued to help him, since he knew the man was bad.” Noah continued. 

“He said it didn't matter, that as a doctor he swore an oath to help those in need, regardless of their moral alignment.” Noah smiled towards the ground at the memory he had forgotten until now.

“Sounds like your father had a good heart. It takes more than just swearing fealty to be true to those words.” Melvin retrieved a small flask from the inside of his coat. 

“Wish I was like him. I'm afraid I'm just as bad as those who I've judged to be as such.” Noah pulled his legs up to his chest.

“The man who killed your father?” Melvin opened the bottle, took a sip from it.

Noah nodded without looking up. “He's hurt and... I kind of refused to help him, even though I can.”

“It's the hard decisions which define who we truly are, son.”

“I don't know if I'm strong enough to make them.”

“Way I see it, there's two kinds of people on this earth. You have those who sometimes stop to re-evaluate themselves. And on the other side you have the ones who always keep going and never look back.” Melvin pocketed his flask.

Noah raised his head with a deep frown on his face, until their eyes met.

“The folk who keep going, they'll likely never learn, never change. Those who stop and take a moment, they'll always be better off. History exists for a reason, so we can learn from it's mistakes, including our own.”

“I'm not sure how that applies to me.” Noah's hand wandered down to pluck at some blades of grass.

“You're sat here, late in the day, discussing your life with a complete stranger. That means you're looking back.”

“But I'm not learning anything.” Frustration filled his voice.

“Have you taken the time let it all sink in?” Melvin raised his brows.

“I suppose not. I just... I feel betrayed. I don't know if I should be angry or sad, I just don't feel anything.”

“In all my years I've found two words to be the hardest to utter to those I care for. Goodbye and forgive.” Melvin started to button up his coat.

“Do you think you'll ever forgive your friend? For almost killing your son.”

“He did more wrong than just that.” Melvin's eyes darkened.

“What's worse than almost killing your own son?”

“Not seeing them as your son anymore.” Melvin's voice cracked.

They both sat in silence for a little while. Noah unsure of what to say again. The other man lost in his own misery. What he did at the ranch was wrong. He promised himself to follow in his fathers footsteps, to help others. With that came his old man's pledge to not look at another man's morals, but only at their need for help. Good and bad were concepts he would have to learn to ignore. Perhaps he would end up having a revelation like the gunsmith had. Then maybe he'd see some good in Colm, the others and... Arthur.

Doubtful.

“As much as I've enjoyed our exchange of grievances. I fear my old bones aren't quite up to the task of dealing with this damned cold.” Melvin stood up as he stifled a groan.

“I'm sorry sir, didn't mean to keep you.” Noah follow suit, got to his feet.

“Like I said, I was lost, you said you were lost. By God's will our paths crossed, for the betterment of ourselves.”

Noah shrugged at him, religion had never been something he had devoted time to.

“Do you think you'll ever forgive your friend?” He asked again, unsatisfied with Melvin's previous answer. It ran parallel with his own struggles, he needed to know, needed a comparison.

“He's a stubborn man. Hell bent on seeing wrong where there is none. It's hard to forgive those who refuse to confess that they've sinned, but not impossible.” Melvin closed the last of the buttons on his coat.

“If they do, confess that is. Does that mean they have to be forgiven no matter what?”

“Forgiveness is a sign that the person who has wronged you, means more to you than the sins they have committed. Whether or not you can forgive them, is for you and you alone to decide.”

Once the man reached his horse, Melvin put his hat on and turned around to face him.

“You've given me a lot to think about.” A small smile appeared on his lips.

“And you me.” Melvin tipped his hat at him.

“I highly doubt someone as young and lost as myself could give you any food for thought.” Noah stepped closer to him.

“Our minds have yet to process this conversation. Once we're alone we'll know if this encounter has been helpful or not. You listen in earnest and seem eager to learn. Those are traits of a wise man to be, Nathan.” Melvin held his hand out again.

“We'll see.” Noah shook his hand. “Thank you mister, safe travels, I hope you find your son.”

“As do I. Godspeed doctor Yates.” Melvin mounted his horse, with a click of his tongue he was off.

Noah walked over to the grave. “I'll do right by your name father, I promise. I'll help those who need it. All of them.”

After he got to his horse, he pushed her hard. If Jesse hadn't followed his instructions, it meant Arthur was bleeding out. Then he'd be a killer too, a disgrace to his name.

“Come on girl, we've gotta get back in time.”

As he rode, Noah still marveled in the wisdom of the elderly man. It seemed strange that such a caring soul would be a criminal of some sort. Unless he was like the son he talked about, a thief who stole to help those who needed it the most. He would have asked if they had more time to talk, he really wished they had. The man seemed full of interesting tales from his past.

What if Arthur was like him? A man who did a little bad so he could do more good. Noah shook his head. No amount of good could possibly overshadow the murder of so many people. The murder of his father. But hadn't Arthur said it wasn't his gun which fired the bullet? He wasn't sure, at some point, Arthur's words had become muffled and distant.

Even still, Arthur had the choice to not help his companion kill, a choice the man hadn't made.

 _'Forgiveness is a sign that the person who has wronged you, means more to you than the sins they have committed.'_ Melvin's words sounded beautiful, but impractical.

Arthur's sin was murder. The death of his father and many others. No. If he truly hadn't fired a bullet, then his sin was helping a murderer. A murderer like Colm, even Jesse, a man he slowly had started to call a friend. A man he helped, both of them. All of them. By that logic, his own sins were equal to Arthur's.

Crap.

Noah shook his head, he had to focus on the road, it was almost dark and he couldn't afford to waste any time. His skills as a healer are needed, that's what he'd focus on for now. The science, the logic. The emotional part would have to wait until later.

But Arthur seemed so broken.

No. It's not your problem. He made his choice, you have to make yours. You're dedicating your life to healing the bodies of others, not their minds.

_'Without the mind, a body is but an empty vessel. Without a body, the mind can not exist. Therefor it is our responsibility to care for both.'_

Noah closed his eyes for a second. It had been a long time since he had imagined his fathers voice. At one point he thought he had forgotten it, in time he will. Just like his father had told him that he could no longer remember the voice of his mother.

The road, focus.

Body and mind... Body and mind. He was responsible for both, in the short term at least. The body he could help quickly, the mind was infinitely more complicated. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to dig around in Arthur's mind. Not now, not ever again. Who knows what other evils he'd uncover. But if he distanced himself, no longer saw the man as a friend, as someone he cared for. Then perhaps he could help him and honor his fathers name.

“Almost there girl.” His horse started to throw her head around a lot, he knew she was tired. But they had made good time, she just needed to push a little bit further.

Not long after the ranch was finally in sight, or at least, all the lights from it. It was so dark by now, he could hardly make out any buildings. Only the lanterns from those which held one. If Arthur was dead, he'd never forgive himself. 

Killer or not, he had an oath to fulfill. The rest he'd work out later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, and it probably wasn't worth it. I'm going to do my best to update much more frequently, like before. I get sidetracked so easily with other things I want to try... 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading and for your patience! Comments are always appreciated!


	30. Chapter 30

Arthur's head shot up, his eyes wide and filled with fear when a painful touch pulled him out of his slumber. He was certain that either Colm or Jesse had returned to torture him some more. Right now, he was at a point where he truly feared more pain. Having been on the receiving end of so much of it in the last week left him weak, both in body and in spirit.

“Calm down, it's just me.” Noah was crouched at Arthur's side. Jesse informed him that Colm was aware of his departure and return. To his surprise, Colm had not yet called for him, hopefully it would stay that way. When Noah entered the room, he was overwhelmed with relief to see Arthur still alive and breathing. But the man looked deathly pale, he had to hurry, get the wounds disinfected and sutured. His hands worked carefully to remove the blood soaked rags which Jesse had secured over the two cuts with more rope, at least the man had done something.

Arthur flinched when Noah moved the rope. Unfortunately it, like the others, served to keep him firmly secured in place. His mouth opened and closed slowly, but no words came out. He knew what he wanted to say, or rather, beg for, but he couldn't. The abuse his throat had suffered over and over, combined with all the screaming from earlier, had left it entirely uncooperative. On top of that, the only thing he had drank in the last few days was whiskey, which had dehydrated him further. Never mind the fact that he lacked even an ounce of energy to muster up any form of speech.

'Please don't hurt me more.' Those were the words Arthur attempted to utter. A pathetic whimper, was all he managed to get out, even that hurt his throat. A fresh set of tears streamed down his face, traced across the now dried outlines from the previous outburst. He had been coherent enough to understand what Jesse had told him. The man's venomous words stung more than the edge of Colm's blade.

 _'The doc hates you so much that he ran, didn't even care that you was bleeding out.'_ Jessie had told him.

Those words now convinced Arthur that Noah had come back only to add to his torment. It made sense since every time the young man touched him, he would have screamed out in pain if he still could.

Noah glanced up a few times towards Arthur. The left side of his face was a mess, eye swollen shut, cheek a mixture of bruises, his lip split. Noah sighed and shook his head, Jesse hadn't been honest about the amount of damage he had done. Arthur's stomach also sported a fresh set off purple and red bruises which weren't there before he left. He shouldn't have left.

“I've already given you more morphine than I should, I can't inject more, it's not safe.” Noah struggled to keep his eyes on the sutures he worked on. Especially when Arthur had started to cry. Part of him, however small it was, still felt compelled to console the man. It was a difficult decision to make, resist those urges or give in. Would giving in mean that he was ready to forgive? No, he wasn't ready for that, not by a long shot.

'I'm sorry for everything.' Arthur tried to say next, but again the inability to speak and a sharp intake of breath stopped him.

“I'll get you some water in a moment. I really need to take care of these wounds first.” Noah glanced up again, it unsettled him to see Arthur like this. The weight-loss, injuries, pain and tears. The man before him was previously feared by those who knew him, but now he sat there, disheveled and broken. That's good, right? Let him suffer for what he has done.

Arthur whimpered pathetically when the cut on his stomach was disturbed. This wasn't how he planned to reveal the truth to Noah, not while he was a barely conscious prisoner. He cursed for Colm for it, cursed the man's audacity to rob from the ability of doing it on his own terms. What terms? You were ready to end your life you fool, you almost had. If it were up to you, you wouldn't have told the boy at all.

Noah finished up the sutures on Arthur's second wound. Of course it's not good, suffering is never good. The law should deal with this, he should be in jail for the crimes he has committed. Noah frowned, is that what he should do, inform the law and have him arrested? They'd come here, there would be massive shoot-out with Colm's men and then many more would die. Good and bad people.

“Here, drink this.” Noah held a glass up to Arthur's lips.

Water, sweet precious water graced his throat. Arthur gulped it up as fast as he could, too fast. It left him spurting and coughing. He groaned when it re-awakened the pain in his ribs and side.

“Slow down.” Noah had to close his eyes for a moment, his mind was still overrun by emotions which conflicted with each other. He came back with the intention to be a healer, but the urge to run away returned as soon as he had entered the room. And the longer he tended to Arthur, the greater than urge became.

“M-m-m'ore.” Arthur parted his lips. This time he swallowed with care.

“M-more, p-please.” 

“That's all I brought. I'll get you some more.” At last, a chance for him to be out of that room for a bit. It stank of whiskey and blood. Did Arthur even feel guilty for what he had done? Or was he only remorseful because he happened to have murdered a relative of someone he had gotten to know? Noah descended the stairs, stopped about halfway down when he heard the voices of Colm and Jesse.

“Just let me kill him, boss.”

“He said he's not loyal to Dutch, I believe him.”

“Morgan ain't gonna be useful no more.”

There was a pause before Colm spoke again. “I'll be the judge of that. Get him in bed, we'll let him rest for a day. Then I'll really work him over, if there's no results tomorrow, you can finish him off.”

Noah didn't wait for the rest of the conversation. Instead he carefully went back up the stairs, past the two guards and into the room he was so eager to leave less than a minute ago. He lingered in front of the now closed door for a few seconds while he stared at Arthur. He felt compelled to help the man, he shouldn't, but he did.

“Colm is going to kill you.” Noah moved behind Arthur, his fingers worked as fast as they could to untie the vast amount of ropes which held him against the chair. The guards, there was no way to get him past those. The only other option would be the window, jumping would be a surefire way to get injured or die, but there was a lot of rope here. There weren't many guards on this side of the building either, it would be possible, especially in the darkness.

“T-tell him... 't get in l-line.” Arthur chuckled halfheartedly.

“I'm serious, we have to get you out of here.” Noah lowered his voice to not alert the two guards outside the door.

“W-why h-help?” Arthur frowned, it made no sense that Noah would help him. But his brain was too fuzzy to piece things together.

“What? I... ” Noah wasn't sure what to say, he couldn't openly admit that he still cared because he wasn't certain if it was the truth or not. “The law should decide your fate, not Colm.” Was that why he felt compelled to help Arthur? So justice could be served?

Arthur lowered his head when he understood Noah's intentions. He had no idea why he hoped Noah still cared, even if only a bit. The boy wanted to see him publicly hanged, he supposed it made sense. It still stung, a lot. But it made sense.

When the last of the ropes fell to the ground, Arthur was close to join them, until Noah steadied him.

“Are you able to climb down a rope?” Noah draped one of Arthur's arms over his shoulder and helped him stand.

“S-sure.” Arthur could barely stand, he was certain his legs would give out any second. But if Noah wanted him to hand himself in to the law, he'd try his damnedest to oblige. The boy deserved some happiness and he was determined to make that happen if it was the last thing he did.

“Hold on to the table.” Noah let go of Arthur when it seemed the man was able to lean against the table and stand on his own. He then grabbed the longest rope there was and tied one end of it around the foot of the bed. With it in hand, he hurried over the window, checked to see if it was clear and then lowered the rope. It was only long enough to get about halfway down, but the rest of the distance was safe enough to jump. _If_ Arthur had the strength to hold on.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Noah eyed him suspiciously.

“I'll... do a-anything f-for you.” Arthur meant it. But it didn't feel like his body was as willing.

Noah turned his head away. There was a time when those words would have meant a lot to him. But now he was convinced they were spoken by a man who wanted redemption for the sins he had committed. 

“I... I'm sorry.” Arthur quietly said.

Sorry. It's not me you have to be sorry to, Noah thought. It's all those innocent people who died. The people you helped murder. Noah pointed his finger towards Arthur, his mouth open and ready to say exactly what he thought about his _sorry_.

Noah froze in place when the door opened, next to him, Arthur was equally as startled.

“Doc?!” Jesse already fumed, without delay he called for the other two men.

“Interesting.” Was all Colm had to say.

“I... I can explain.” Noah stammered.

Arthur backed away when the two guards came for him, he knew he'd get punished for this. 

“Do tell, boy.” Colm stepped closer to Noah.

“I...” You don't care, it's not that, just be honest. “He needs to face justice. I was going to take him to the sheriff.”

“The sheriff?” Colm frowned.

“You don't have the right to kill him. He needs to answer to the law.” Noah felt this was the right decision to make.

Arthur grunted in protest when his arms were wrenched behind him to be bound together once more.

“And what exactly do you think will happen to him there?” A grin formed on Colm's face.

“They... they'll go over his crimes and... and...” They'll kill him just the same. Noah knew he had to stop pretending otherwise.

“Justice, right?” Colm sneered at him.

“Y-yes.” Noah felt hesitant, something about the way Colm looked at him.

“You've proven yourself to be a good doctor, like your father was before you. Which is why keeping you content is very important to me.” Colm no longer sneered, his lips now rested in a straight line as he placed a hand on Noah's shoulder.

Noah frowned at the man, he knew Colm liked to keep him around. Who wouldn't want a healer in their midst? But for him to express it so openly was suspicious to say the least.

“Ready a group of ten. We're going for a ride.” Colm side-glanced at Jesse, who nodded at him.

“Where are you going?” Noah's frown deepened.

“Put him in the supply wagon.” Colm faced the two men holding Arthur.

Arthur's left eye was almost complete swollen shut, his right one widened at Noah when the men dragged him past them.

“Mr. O'Driscoll?” Noah was guided forward by Colm's hand on his shoulder. Was he to join them on their ride?

When Noah was lead outside, the men were already forcing Arthur up into the wagon. Noah grimaced when the man's struggles earned him a kick to the back of his leg.

“Up you go.” Colm motioned at the back of the wagon before he took his hand off of Noah.

Noah did as told, he sat down on a bench, with one of Colm's men to his left and right. Arthur sat directly opposite of him, also trapped between two O'Driscoll's. Jesse was sat at the front and took the reins in his hands.

Colm took the lead and rode on his own horse. Behind the wagon six other men followed on their own respective horses. Noah wondered what the reason for this big show of force was.

“Jesse, where are we going?” Noah raised his voice to be heard over all the horses and the wagon itself as it moved along the dirt road.

Without turning around, Jesse shrugged at Noah.

The group rode for several hours, until the night had turned back into day. The few passer by's they had encountered either stopped to let them pass or arched around them in a very wide turn. An armed group of their size proved to be very intimidating to all who crossed their path.

Somehow, in spite of all the bumps and being jolted around, Arthur had managed to drift off a few times. Exhausted as he was.

“Cover your faces boys!” Colm shouted.

Noah glanced around, confused by everything that was happening. Were they about to commit a crime? Was Colm really about to drag him into this? He frowned and looked down when the man to his left pushed a piece of cloth in his hand.

“Cover your face doc, or you ain't never coming back to this town.” Jesse said.

“Town?” As he asked the question they rode past a signing post.

Strawberry.

“Is... is Co- Mr. O'Driscoll going to hand him over to the sheriff?” Noah addressed the question to Jesse when his suspicions were confirmed.

“Sure.” Jesse chuckled.

As soon as they rode into town, Colm had fired a few shots up in the air. This prompted Noah to fumble around with the bandana in his hands as he hurried to cover his face with it.

“People of Strawberry, if you would all be so kind as to gather around the sheriffs office.” Colm shouted.

Most of the O'Driscoll's had already dismounted their horses. When an angry and armed sheriff emerged along with his deputy, he found himself surrounded by a group of men who had their guns trained at him. He surrendered without question.

Jesse hopped over the front of the wagon and helped Noah up. The others already dragged a slumped over Arthur towards Colm and the sheriffs office.

“Don't use any names, doc.” Jesse whispered as he pulled Noah along with him.

Noah was completely bewildered as everything unfolded before him. If they were here to hand Arthur in, why did they need bandana's or aim their guns at the law?

“What is the meaning of this?” The sheriff demanded with his hands raised.

“Naturally, we're here to do our duty as law abiding citizens.” Colm said.

“With your faces covered and guns out?” The sheriff bit back.

“Don't be so glum, sheriff. I brought you a very wanted man.” Colm held his arms out towards Arthur.

The sheriff frowned at the battered man.

“The infamous Arthur Morgan. One of the men who shot up your peaceful little town many months ago.”

“I know him, has a huge bounty on his head.” The younger deputy said.

“In that case, there's no need for your show of force. We'll jail him and inform the proper authorities of his incarceration.” The sheriff said.

“Afraid that won't do. You see- “ Colm raised his voice for all to hear. “Myself along with the good people of Strawberry demand a hanging. Right now.”

“That's not how the law works.” The sheriff flinched when Colm approached him. When the man whispered something into his ears, his eyes widened and he nodded.

“T-to the gallows then.” The sheriff stammered.

A few of the O'Driscoll's cheered as they dragged Arthur away.

“Join us if you would like to see this criminal pay for his crimes!” Colm smirked from behind his mask as more people started to gather.

“W-what are you doing?” Noah walked up to Colm.

“Exactly what you wanted, boy. A public hanging.” Colm patted him on the shoulder before he joined the few men on top of the gallows.

Aware of what was about to happen, Arthur started to resist more. For a second he thought it ironic that he was so eager to die only a day ago. But not by hanging, not after the last time. The pain in his neck still a fresh reminder of the agony which came with being strangled to death. He fought hard with what little strength he had left. Struggled as hard as he could against the two men who pulled him up the few steps, dug his heels into the wooden floor as they dragged him over towards the noose.

The sheriff stepped up to the front of the gallows so he could address the crowd.

Arthur knew he lost the fight when Jesse pulled the noose over his head and tightened it. With his hands tied behind him, he no longer had anywhere to go.

“Good people of Strawberry. You have gathered here today to see justice being served. To bear witness as this man will be punished for his heinous and callous actions which have torn apart this community.” The sheriff glanced over at Colm who nodded at him.

“Hang him!” Someone shouted.

“Mr. O-. Sir, please this... this isn't right.” Noah tugged on Colm's sleeve.

“The sheriff is doing his duty, the people of Strawberry get what they deserve. How is this not _exactly_ right?” Colm kept his eyes on the sheriff.

“Murderer!” Another voice from the crowd.

Noah glanced over at the crowd. None of them appeared to be afraid anymore of Colm's armed men. Instead they seemed cheerful and eager to watch a man die in front of them.

“Many of you have lost someone at the hands of this man.” The sheriff cleared his throat. “But on this day, justice will prevail.”

“He had no trial, no chance to defend himself or explain his actions.” Noah's heart pounded away in his chest. Now that he was faced with the reality of _justice_ , it seemed far less fair than he expected.

“Trial?” Colm chuckled. “Don't be naive, boy. Men like us don't get a fair trial. This is how it goes, straight to the noose.”

“Arthur Morgan. You have been found guilty of the crimes of aiding a known criminal to escape from jail. And multiple counts of murder of both lawmen and innocent bystanders.” The sheriff continued to address the crowd as they cheered him on.

“I only fired at them who shot at m-” Arthur cried out, he had to bite his lip when Jesse applied pressure to the cut in his side, the pain almost made his legs give out on him. He had no idea why he tried to defend his actions. Who he shot at, didn't matter to anyone, only that he had. All this because of Micah, a bastard he couldn't even remember. Was he really that much of a fool before he lost his memory? Blind and stupid enough to help a dirty rat. Unless it was Dutch, it wouldn't surprise him if that bastard had somehow coerced him into helping out a piece of shit like Micah.

“Silence! This is not a courtroom. You have already been deemed guilty.” The sheriff snapped.

“Sir please, you have to stop this.” Noah pleaded with Colm.

“Hm, I distinctly recall you wanting the law to deal with him.” Colm turned his head towards Noah.

“I... it was a mistake, I thought he would get a fair trial, please sir.” Noah was desperate. Arthur was here, in front of those he wronged, including his father. On the verge of paying for his crimes with his own life. This _was_ what he wanted, he never really believed there would be a trial. It was an excuse, a way to deny that deep inside, he didn't want Arthur to die at all. But now he was going to, and it was all his fault.

“We have to learn to live with the decisions we make, boy.” Colm gave Jesse a single nod.

Arthur swallowed hard when Jesse wrapped his fingers around the lever which would kill him. Through his hazy vision, he searched the crowd for Noah, recognized him only by his blue plaid shirt and the lack of a hat. He wasn't sure if their eyes had met, but in his mind they had.

“May the lord have mercy on his soul.” The sheriff stepped aside so he too could have a clear view of the hanging.

Arthur's breath came out in loud gasps. He had to close his eyes because he didn't want his last image of Noah to be one where the young man cheered for his death.

“Sir, spare him please. I'll do anything you want.” Noah's desperation overwhelmed every ounce of common sense.

Colm again nodded towards Jesse, who then immediately pulled the lever.

Arthur's eyes opened in shock when his feet no longer had a surface to stand on. The rope around his neck tightened painfully and removed his ability to draw in air. The voices from the crowd were now muffled when the ringing in his ears became louder. He fought, as hard as he could, teeth grit together as every muscle in his body tensed up.

“No!” Noah rushed over to the gallows, he stumbled and fell but continued on hands and knees as he traversed underneath the wooden platform. Thankfully the platform was low to the ground in this town. Arthur's knees were at shoulder height for him. Noah grabbed hold of Arthur's ankles, crouched down until Arthur's feet could stand on his shoulders. It took a tremendous amount of strength from his end, but he managed to push his own legs up until he stood straight with Arthur's weight on top of him.

“The hell is going on?!” A man cried out.

“Let him swing!” Another shouted.

Colm slowly walked up the steps until he stood next to the sheriff. “Shows over folk, get back to your homes.”

Jesse, unhappy with Colm's lack of response to Noah keeping Arthur alive, waved his hand at his men. They aimed their guns towards the sky and fired several shots to make the crowd disperse with great haste.

“Not you.” Colm placed his hand on the sheriffs shoulder. “ On your knees.” He waited for the man to comply before he turned towards a coughing Arthur and glanced down the hole.

“Get him.” Colm side-glanced at Jesse as he nodded towards Noah.

Jesse immediately hopped off the gallows with a grin on his face. Noah fought against him and screamed while he was dragged out from underneath the platform with relative ease.

Arthur's eyes widened when he no longer had a foothold. The pain in his neck returned with a vengeance. Like before he was left dangling until his brain would shut down from lack of oxygen.

Colm smirked at Arthur and patted him on the shoulder. “Keep fighting it.” He then walked over to the edge of the platform and stared down at Jesse and Noah.

Jesse held on to each of Noah's arms while the latter still desperately fought to get back to Arthur.

“Look at me.” Colm said.

“Let go!” Noah attempted to wriggle free, a hand firmly gripped his jaw and forced him to look up.

“Did I hear you correctly? You'd do _anything_ I want?” Colm unsheathed his knife.

“Yes. Please, yes.” Noah's feet slid around uselessly in the mud, Jesse was too strong for him.

“Repeat it for me, boy.” Colm demanded.

“I'll do anything you want sir.” Noah promised in sheer desperation.

“ _Anything_.”

The bandana covered Colm's wide grin, it's presence more than evident in the man's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay between updates. And sorry for the sloppy writing, I still have so much to learn.  
> Bit of a "meh" chapter, then again I don't think I've written one thus far which made me go "this was decent." 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. Hope you all have a wonderful day! <3


	31. Chapter 31

_“You're in my spot Marston.” Arthur flicked the stump of his cigarette into the campfire._

_John glanced up at him and huffed._

_“Move or be moved.”_

_“Sit on the damned log, there's plenty of space.” John took another sip from his bottle._

_With a low growl, Arthur grabbed John by the back of his collar and threw the younger outlaw off the chair he sat on._

_“Son-of-a!” John stumbled forward, but managed to keep his balance._

_“My chair.” Arthur smirked at Charles, who sat on the opposite side of the campfire and shook his head at him._

_“Ow!” Arthur cried out when a small object collided with the back of his head. He already knew who was guilty as he spun around._

_“Screw you Morgan.” John spat._

_“You little shit.” Arthur threw himself at John, the pair fell to the ground and wrestled for the position to straddle the other._

_“Sick of you always picking on me!” John snarled from underneath Arthur as he fought to gain control. He managed to roll over and sit on his knees and elbows._

_“That don't mean you can be throwing shit at my head.” Arthur leaned in for a choke hold, he snaked an arm around John's neck._

_“Get off me!” John's hands reached up and attempted to pry Arthur's arm loose._

_“Stop me, Johnny.” Arthur grinned, he rubbed the top of John's head with the knuckles of his free hand._

_“That's enough you two!” Hosea yelled. Both Arthur and John received a few thwacks against the sides of their heads from the rolled up newspaper in his hand ._

_“Ouch.” Arthur immediately let go of John and got to his feet. Next to him, John did the same thing._

_“You're both grown men, start acting like it.” Hosea continued to reprimand them._

_“Yes Hosea.” Both the men said in unison._

_The older man scoffed at them, grumbled as he walked away._

_“Your fault.” Arthur elbowed John with a smirk on his face._

_“Lucky I let ya win.” John grinned back._

_“Next time I'mma choke you out.” Arthur smiled._

_"I'd like to see you try." John laughed and patted him on the back._

~~~

“J-John...” Arthur croaked.

“It's Noah.” 

Arthur frowned, he was certain his eyes were open. But the voice which belonged to the blurred face next to him hadn't matched the image in his mind.

“H-Hosea?” Confusion filled eyes darted around, there should be a wagon hugging the right side edge of his cot. The air should be clean and fresh. Was he not in camp?

“Arthur, are you with me?” Noah asked.

“Always Dutch.” No. Not Dutch, what was he saying? A hand touched his forehead, it made him blink a few times. No tent, no camp, not even a cot. He was in a room. His room, no, Colm's room. The room Colm had given to him.

“Do you know where you are?” Noah carefully widened Arthur's eyelid to check the man's pupils.

“R-” Arthur licked his lips. “Ranch?”

“That's right, drink this.” Noah lifted Arthur's head and brought a cup to the man's lips.

Arthur swallowed a few times. Noah spoke to him, but the words became dull and distant as his eyelids grew heavier by the second. His head was lowered on top of the soft pillow, that was all it took for him to drift off again.

~~~

_He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Arthur couldn't stop Micah from keeping his mouth and nose unable to draw in any air. He watched helplessly as Micah raised his revolver and aimed it a man in the distance._

_“No, Arthur you have to stop him!” Noah screamed from behind Micah._

_He tried will all he had, but he couldn't breathe and lacked the strength to break through Micah's bindings._

_“Say goodbye to your daddy.” Micah sneered as he pulled the trigger._

_“No!” Noah screamed and dropped to his knees. “Why Arthur? Why didn't you stop him?”_

_“Hmfph!” He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Micah continued to suffocate him. He pulled as hard as he could against his restraints, the lack of oxygen not doing him any favors._

_“Stop!” Noah pulled on Micah's shoulder. “Stop it, you're killing him.”_

“Stop dang it!” Noah yelled.

Arthur tried to remove the restriction from his mouth and nose, he really did, but his arms refused to cooperate. Try as he might, he just couldn't lift them further than a few inches. His whole body jerked upward as it desperately fought for air.

“Jesse I get it! I get the message, please stop.” Noah pleaded.

“You make sure Colm knows that.” Jesse said.

Arthur's eyes flew open when the hand which clamped his mouth and nose shut disappeared. The first breath he drew in was deep, followed by a series of uneven gasps and coughs.

“It's okay. Just breathe, he's gone now.” Noah spoke softly, his hand brushed through Arthur's damp hair.

He still tried to make sense of things. Again he hadn't woken up in camp, nor was Micah nearby. Because the bastard is dead. It was just a dream, a very vivid dream. Arthur closed his eyes again. The bindings weren't a dream, he realized that when he could feel the cold metal around his wrists and ankles.

Still a prisoner, Arthur sighed.

“I need you to stay awake long enough for some food and liquids.” Noah started to prop Arthur's head up.

Arthur could see he was naked when Noah lifted the sheets to check his wounds. Bandages were wrapped around his lower body, blood seeped through them at his side.

“Dammit Jesse.” Noah cursed while he already dug around inside his satchel.

Arthur watched him work in silence. The part where he failed to protect Noah and his father from Micah's brutality was more than just a dream. It was the truth.

“I-I'm s-sorry.” Arthur's eyes closed after he spoke, the pain in his throat made him flinch. He was greeted with silence for the longest time. The young doctor reached a point where he already had the wound cleaned up again and almost re-bandaged.

“I understand.” Noah eventually said.

Arthur's eyes opened with a frown on his face. “Y-you do?”

“Yes.” This time Noah was quicker to respond.

“I... thought you'd h-hate... me.” Arthur stammered.

Noah swallowed, then turned his back to Arthur so he could store his tools back where they belonged.

“I don't hate you.” Noah spoke quietly.

“H-he's dead be- because of m-me.” He really shouldn't be talking, the strain it put on his voice was intense.

“I...don't- ” It sounded like Noah was holding back. “Let's get some water in you.”

Arthur reluctantly nodded. His body more eager than his mind to accept the much needed liquid.

“W-why?” Arthur wriggled his wrist around, enough to make the chains clang against the metal frame of the bed.

“Jesse insisted. And we're not sure if you'll try to kill yourself again.” Noah sat down next to bed, occupied himself with stirring the oatmeal he brought up.

“W-would you... w-want me to?” 

Noah's head shot up, his eyes wide in surprise. His brows then pulled together while his eyes narrowed. “Of course not, how could you even think that?!”

Arthur turned his head away.

“Arthur, what you did was... it was...”

Again it sounded to him like Noah wanted to say something which he decided to hold back.

“I'm a killer, d-don't deserve to l-live.” He said with a sigh.

“You need to eat.” Noah waited for Arthur to turn his head before he brought the spoon to the man's lips.

“W-why'd you try to save m-me?” Arthur spoke after he swallowed the spoonful.

Noah's head lowered, his hand played around with the food inside the bowl. “I don't know.” He almost mumbled.

“Please eat.” Noah brought the spoon up again.

The boy wasn't ready to talk about it, made sense. Why was he even? Drugs, that's what it had to be, he was probably high on morphine, which would explain why his throat was the only thing which still somewhat hurt.

“Leaving?” He watched Noah gather all the items on the bedside table.

“Yeah I... I have chores to do.” Noah cleared his throat. “You need to rest more anyways.”

Arthur hadn't responded, waited for Noah to leave the room before he sighed heavily. It felt like the boy was eager to be anywhere but near him. Noah said he understood and that he didn't hate him. Somehow it didn't feel like that was the truth. He shook his head, his mind was too cloudy to concentrate for long. He should rest and regain his strength, especially while morphine kept all the pain he expected to feel at bay.

~~~

Arthur woke up from a dreamless sleep when the door to his room was roughly opened. In came Jesse and two others whom Arthur didn't recognize. He worried Jesse had come to torture him some more over the death of his brother. Something Arthur actually hadn't been responsible for.

“What's going on?” Arthur shifted nervously when Jesse started to unlock his shackles. None of the men seemed interested in answering him either.

“Easy.” Arthur groaned when he was dragged to his feet, they had a firm grip on each of his arms and proceeded to pull him outside and down the stairs. Once down in the corridor, Jesse stopped them so he could slam his fist into Arthur's stomach.

He doubled over in their grasp, “argh! I-I ain't resisting, shit.”

The men used this moment to quickly loop some rope around his wrists and tie them together behind his back. With that done, Arthur struggled to keep up as they pulled him to their destination. Colm's room.

“On your knees.” Jesse kicked the back of Arthur's legs, hard enough to force the man down.

“Shit. Ever heard of asking first?” The morphine definitely wasn't helping him anymore, being forcefully dropped to his knees made that all to evident.

“Good to see your spirit back.” Colm noted, “leave us.”

“Some clothes would have been nice.” Arthur mumbled right before Jesse closed the door behind himself.

“I prefer you like this.” Colm walked a circle around Arthur.

“What was all the drama about?” Arthur flinched when Colm stroked a finger across the scars on his back.

“Drama?”

“That whole circus in Strawberry. Only for me to end up back here.” Arthur jerked his head away when Colm fiddled with his hair.

“You'd rather be dead?”

Arthur shifted on his knees, he swallowed, mouth open and ready for a reply which hadn't come.

“No.” He finally said, albeit very quietly.

“Convince me.” Colm walked past him, sat down at his table, turned slightly so he faced Arthur and crossed his legs.

Arthur frowned at him. He understood the question, unexpected as it was, but he had no answer.

“I'm waiting.” Colm lifted a glass filled with what appeared to be whiskey, sipped it as he watched Arthur.

“You'll have to take my word for it.” Arthur turned his head away, uncomfortable with sharing his feelings, especially to Colm.

“Not good enough. I can keep you like this all day and night Arthur, worse than this even.” Colm threatened.

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. “I was... unwilling to tell Noah what happened. And... felt guilty.” That was as simple as he could keep it.

“So it was all about the boy?” Colm stroked his stubble.

“I'm sick and tired of being a prisoner. With you, with Dutch.” Arthur's sigh mimicked the frustration which he felt.

“Jesse is convinced Dutch sent you here to kill me.” Colm sipped his drink again.

“We been over this already. I ain't sent here by no one. Least of all Dutch.” 

“So let's say I cut you loose right now, what would you do?” Colm asked.

“I...” He frowned at the question, something he hadn't considered at all, “I don't know.”

“Back to Dutch?” Colm questioned.

“No.” He immediately answered, “he don't want me there, and I don't want to be there.”

“Then what? Roam around by yourself with a tree thousand dollar bounty on your head?”

It was that much? God he must have done some bad shit. Arthur shook his head at himself.

“I'm not telling you where they are,” Arthur sighed. “Your price is too high.”

“Oh I know.” Colm got back up, “I need fighters like you Arthur. Well... once we get you back to your old self. 

Arthur tensed up when Colm's hands rested on his shoulders. He expected to be hurt any second now.

“No need to be tense. I ain't got no reason to hurt you, that is... if you agree to work for me again.” Colm's fingers kneaded Arthur's shoulders.

“You gonna kill me if I decide to leave?”

“I was. But seeing you like this reminded of why I took you in all them weeks ago.” Colm slowed his massage down.

“What's all this then?” Colm asked as his finger brushed over the scars on Arthur's back.

“Micah.” Arthur grit his teeth together.

“Hm. Bastards lucky to be dead.” Colm's finger continued to brush over every single scar, “we'll be needing to feed ya a lot. Get you back to your old, gorgeous self.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, “Colm I-”

“Ah ah!” Colm interjected, “remember who's room you're in.”

“...Sir.” Arthur hadn't forgotten, merely hoped Colm had. Again he was faced with a crap arrangement. Do Colm's bidding, give the man his body, or risk being out there alone against the law and probably Dutch Van der Linde as well. At least in here he could work on making amends with Noah. It seemed like the boy was somewhat willing to accept it, maybe even pardon him.

“What about Jesse? Doubt he'll be none too pleased.” Arthur craned his neck so he could glance up at Colm.

“He ain't your concern.” Colm placed his hands on either side of Arthur's head and forced the man to face forward again.

“I want you to focus on getting your muscles back, Arthur. You'll be staying on the ranch until then.”

“So I'm still a prisoner.” It wasn't a question.

“I need you at your best and... most beautiful.” Colm couldn't resist, he brought his hands down to Arthur's arms, stroked them from top to bottom and back.

“It's your choice if you want to get there with or without being restrained.” Colm continued.

“I've been tied up in some way or another for the last week and a bit. Sick of it.” Arthur twisted his bound wrists around.

“Pity. I prefer you like this. In fact, let's enjoy lunch together.” Colm hooked his arm under Arthur's and helped him to his feet. He then pulled out a chair for the man.

“I'm sore and tired, I just want to rest.” Arthur sighed.

“Well there just happens to be a bed right here.” Colm held his hands out towards the bed.

Arthur glanced over at it and swallowed, “I'll sit. Where are my clothes?”

“Don't know, don't care. Sit.” Colm ordered.

Arthur turned his back to Colm, held his bound hands out as far as he could.

“I said I prefer you like this.” Colm mused.

“Thought you wanted me to eat?”

“One more complaint and I'll have you on your knees swallowing something else.” Colm sneered at Arthur.

Arthur sat down immediately, Colm's threat being more than enough of a motivator to shut up and sit through this crap. 

Colm opened the door and told Noah to serve two plates of food. He then walked over to Arthur, who now sat with his back to the door. His hands were on Arthur's shoulders before he even stood as close as he liked, eager to resume the massage he had started to give him earlier.

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. In spite of it being Colm who had his hands all over him, he couldn't deny that his muscles were very pleased with this type of attention.

“Liking it, aren't ya?” Colm smirked.

“You be tied up for as long as I've been and see how your arms feel.” It was true, it could have been Dutch behind him right now and he'd still enjoy it, even Mi-, no, not Micah. The thought made Arthur shake his head.

Colm continued kneading the muscles in Arthur's upper arms, even after Noah knocked and was permitted entrance with two plates of food. Arthur had looked up at the boy, but Noah kept his gaze averted. It made Arthur wonder if everything Noah had told him earlier about being fine with things was a lie.

Arthur pulled a face when Colm leaned over his shoulder to pick up a piece of meat from the plate in front of him. He pulled his head away when the man brought it to his lips.

“You either eat what I offer or I'll have the boys chain you to my bed. So don't say I didn't give ya a choice.” Colm brushed the food against Arthur's lips.

Arthur had to close his eyes and grit his teeth together. It was all part of an effort to calm himself down. If he lashed out now, Colm would certainly make good on both of his threats. What was he doing thinking he'd be better off with this lot?

“That's it.” Colm forced half his finger into Arthur's mouth, “clean it off.”

If you bite his damned finger off you'll be dead for sure. But Colm would be missing a finger, that'd be a bonus. Arthur closed his mouth until his lips barely touched Colm's finger, he then pulled his head back, not slowly and definitely not sensually.

“Dutch don't deserve you. You would have thrived so much more under my leadership had I been the one to take you in when you was younger.” Colm sounded like he spoke to himself as much as he was to Arthur.

“I've been with him since I was young?” Arthur frowned.

“Never mind that. Open up, make it a good one and I'll let ya eat the rest by yourself.” Colm brought another piece of food to Arthur's mouth.

Again Arthur had to close his eyes so he could attempt to form a different image if what transpired. The promise of freedom to eat by himself was impossible to refuse, it was something he hadn't been allowed to do properly for so long. When Colm's finger entered his mouth, he made sure his lips formed a tight seal around it. He twirled his tongue around for a bit, ignored the disgust which accompanied his actions. After that he pulled his head back again, only much slower than before as he ensured his lips still had a tight hold on the finger.

"Hmmm," Colm couldn't hold back a desire filled moan.

“You have no idea how big the temptation is to throw you on the bed and take you right now.” Colm whispered into his ear.

“Y-you promised I could eat.” Colm's proximity made Arthur shudder.

“Blame yourself for being so damned-” Colm's hands wandered down to Arthur's thighs, it made him moan again, "-irresistible."

Arthur anxiously awaited the man's next move, to his surprise he could feel Colm fiddle with the knot which held his wrists together. Seconds later he was finally free. Arthur's first reaction was to spend some time to rub each of his wrists. Jesse hadn't been kind with the tightness of his rope work.

“Eat.” Colm sat down in the chair opposite of Arthur, pulled his own plate closer to himself. His other hand retrieved the cutlery which Noah had left on Arthur's side.

“I ain't ready to trust you with sharp things when we're alone.” Colm said in reply to Arthur's frown.

“Whatever.” Too hungry to care, Arthur used his hand to scoop large amounts of food into his mouth.

“Is it the boy?” Colm asked after a long silence during which he watched Arthur eat.

“What?” Arthur gulped down the water fast enough to make some of it drip out the corner of his mouth.

“You being so repulsed by the idea of being in my bed. Is the boy the reason?” Colm took a few bites of his own.

The nature of the question made him stop halfway through bringing another handful of food to his mouth.

“I practically control an army, I'm rich. Provide you with a nice room. What ain't there to like?” Colm held his head high and maintained eye contact with Arthur.

“You ain't my type.” You're an overdressed, power hungry piece of shit narcissist who reminds me of Dutch.

“Do tell, what type is Arthur Morgan attracted to?” Colm leaned back.

“I ain't interested in this kind of talk.” Arthur let the food in his hand drop back down on the plate.

“Younger, lean, naive and tender. Am I close?”

“Ain't none of your business. Not you, that's all you be needing to know.” Arthur bit back.

“Think about it Arthur. A man with my kind of experience. Think about the things I could do to you, the pleasure I could give you.” Colm leaned in closer with a grin on his face.

“I've lost my appetite.” Arthur pushed the plate away from himself.

“Finish your food.” Colm ordered.

Arthur turned his head away, he jumped in his seat when Colm slammed his fist down on the table. Now they both stared at each other as the air grew more tense by the second.

“Fine.” Arthur pulled the plate back. All it would take was for Colm to whistle for his goons and then he'd be helpless to stop anything the man very much wanted to do to him.

Colm visibly relaxed and leaned back once Arthur continued with his meal. He remained silent throughout the rest of it. When Arthur finished his plate and licked his own fingers clean, Colm shoved his own plate towards him.

“Finish that too. After that you'll do some heavy lifting chores. I want them muscles back on you.” 

“I doubt the doctor will agree with that, considering I'm recovering from you cutting me open.” Arthur eyed the other plate, he felt full. But if eating kept Colm's advances at bay then he'd gladly eat more. Better yet, it kept him unrestrained, which was a huge plus.

“Hm.” Colm sat in silence as he contemplated Arthur's words.”Three days of rest, then I want you working.”

Arthur deliberately made his next bites slightly more sensual, he realized earlier on that it kept Colm happy and quiet. He chewed slower, swallowed more pronounced. He even withdrew his fingers slower than he should. But his eyes were never on Colm, if he did that, he'd surely be sending the man the wrong kind of signals. He really hoped he wasn't now.

Shit, surely this wouldn't bode well for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think- (because I'm never sure where my mind goes) that the next chapter or two will have little to no wump, so I'm sorry if you're here for that. I need to get through a bunch of Arthur and Noah stuff first. Arthur & Colm though, where is that going? It may or may not go into non-con territory, which I know some of you would love and others wouldn't. I haven't decided just yet.
> 
> Let me know what you think! As always, thank you for reading and sticking with this long ass pile of turds.


	32. Chapter 32

After his unpleasant one on one with Colm, Arthur had wandered back up to his room. Still naked as the day he was born, he searched the only dresser which stood in his room for a fresh set of clothes. Much to his dismay, they only contained some fresh linen. He stared at the door, let out a heavy sigh at the thought of going outside again while naked. The two goons outside his door, escorts, as Colm called them, already snickered at his nudity.

Perhaps a quick rest would do him good? Arthur thought as he glanced over at his bed, it's soft linen a temptation like no other. But then his gaze wandered to the four shackles which were still in place. One deep enough slumber could potentially lead to waking up in chains. He held his arms out, stared down as his reddened, chafed wrists. Yeah, they've had their fair share of being bound, no more of that if it could be avoided.

A soft knock on the door made him turn towards it, his head darted around in search for an item to cover himself with. The fact that there had been a knock told him it was likely Noah, no one else here cared enough to be so courteous. His bed, a sheet, it would have to do, he snagged it, quickly wrapped it around his middle before he spoke.

“Come in.”

“Hey.” Noah pushed the door open, barely wide enough for him to slip in, he leaned against it to close it behind him. In his hands he held a pile of clothes which appeared clean.

Arthur recognized the items as his own, it brought a tiny smile to his lips. Of course Noah would have taken his time to clean them. Unless Colm ordered him, the smile on his lips vanished.

“I eh, mended your shirt as best as I could, new buttons and all.” Noah set the pile down on top of the bed, boots he left on the floor.

“Thank you.” Arthur had to clear his throat, his voice suddenly faint and dry.

“Your next meal should be ready in an hour or so. Mr. O'Driscoll wants you to be fed five times a day.”

The statement made Arthur's brows shoot up. His eyes glanced over towards the large mirror in his room. He did appear gaunt, dark circles below his eyes, his hair and beard much longer than he preferred. Still, as ugly as he seemed, it apparently wasn't ugly enough for Colm who still lusted over him, he shuddered at the thought. Was Noah still attracted to him? He remembered the first time they spoke, here in this bed. The boy a reddish mess of embarrassment, it was something else for sure, something nice, made him feel good about himself for a change. But now, who could be attracted to this shadow of a man who stared back at him, surely no one, except for Colm. Especially not someone he hurt as deeply as he had Noah.

“Arthur?” Noah stared at him, the look on his face an indication that this wasn't the first time he called out Arthur's name.

“Sorry.” Arthur blinked at the boy. His thoughts had been spun into a web of confusion. Laden with uncertainty on what his next move should be.

“Are you feeling any discomfort or pain?” Noah asked.

Arthur shook his head. The words not entirely truthful, but he didn't want to be fussed over. The sooner he could prove to Colm that he was ready to hold his own again, the sooner the man might let him go out and do some work. Or so he hoped.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Noah stepped closer to him.

“I'm fine.” Arthur stepped backwards, a frown formed on his face. Noah seemed unusually calm in his presence. It felt strange, unexpected.

“Just let me have a look.” Noah carefully spun Arthur around. “S-some of these are very bad, they'll never go away.” Noah's hand brushed over the scars on Arthur's back.

Arthur craned his neck, looked himself over in the mirror. His eyes widened for a moment before he turned his head away. Forever marked by a dead man, a man he couldn't even remember beyond last weeks encounter.

Not a man, a rat, a killer. The whole reason he was in this mess.

“I know.” Arthur stepped away from Noah, over to the bed so he could dress himself.

“Let me help you.” Noah followed him, retrieved a pair of pants from the pile.

Arthur pulled his brows even closer together. Jesse had said that Noah hated him now, which made sense after what he had done to the boy. How he tore his family apart, or at least aided another man in doing so.  
“Colm that eager to get me back on my feet?” Arthur took the pants from him, stepped into them while he fumbled with the sheet.

“What? No, I'm not here because he told me to be.” Noah picked up the light blue shirt.

“Then why are you?” Arthur groaned when he stretched his arms out so Noah could help him get his shirt on.

“I want to be.” Noah replied after a moments pause.

Arthur turned to face him. “But I-”

“Arthur,” Noah cut him off, “if you don't want me here I'll go.”

“No it's not that. I'm just... surprised is all.” He buttoned his shirt up. Was Noah being nice until he could plant a knife in his back? No, that didn't make sense, he could have done so already. Arthur shook his head, his own thoughts disturbed him. He searched the young man's eyes for something, any indication that this might be a ruse of some sort.

“I uhm, I should get started on your meal.” Noah smiled ever so slightly, then lowered his head.

Arthur nodded, didn't turn around when Noah walked past him and out the door. Instead he focused on the last few buttons of his shirt. You murdered his father, he shouldn't be smiling at you, shouldn't be so nice. It wasn't right. Maybe he plans on poisoning your food?

“Don't be stupid, that don't make no sense.” Arthur mumbled to himself.

Or does it?

After he got his socks and boots on, Arthur paced around the room. The bed still tempted him to sleep, while the shackles which hung from it's frame compelled him not to. His mind remained trapped in the same place as he continued his stride from wall to window. Poison would make sense, easy to hide from Colm. Also a preferred way to kill someone for those who weren't used to killing. Indirect without getting your own hands dirty, as a doctor the boy surely would know exactly how to do it. 

“Stop it you fool, he wouldn't.” Arthur tapped the palm of his hand against his temple, as if the action would expel his current thoughts. A knock on the door got his attention, had it been an hour already?

“Yes?” His hands reached down to rest on top of his gun belt, they grabbed at air, reminded him how naked he felt without it.

Noah entered the room with a steaming bowl of food in one hand, a pitcher in the other. As before he closed the door behind him, set the items down on the table and pulled the chair out for Arthur. He then filled the empty cup on the table with the water he brought up.

“Listen, Noah, you don't gotta do all this.”

Arthur rested a hand on the boys shoulder, who pulled away from him with an unseen speed. Noah had backed up so fast and far that he knocked the chair over and almost himself with it. Arthur could only step back, mouth agape.

“I-I'm sorry?” Arthur wasn't entirely sure what just happened, but an apology seemed appropriate.

“N-n-no,” Noah stammered. “I should apologize, I didn't expect you to- I wasn't... I'm sorry.” Noah lifted the chair back in place, groaned from the effort.

“You okay?” Arthur stepped towards him again, his hand hovered close to Noah's body, hesitated to touch him again.

“Ribs still hurt that's all.” Noah quickly positioned himself so the chair was between Arthur and him.

Arthur lowered his head. “I failed making Dutch or the others pay for what they did to you.”

“What part of you thought I would want that?!” Noah raised his voice, the shyness from his clumsy actions now replaced with anger.

Arthur's head snapped up after the unexpected outburst. Hands balled up into fists, nostrils widened with every breath he took.

“They tortured you, a kid. Tortured you and left you for dead.” He said through grit teeth. The memory of Noah's bound, broken and barely alive body still fresh in his mind.

“Oh?! So is that why it was fine to kill my father? He was above the required age to be eligible for being murdered?!” Noah spat with enough venom to put a horse down.

Arthur's brows pulled away from each other, his mouth wide open.

Noah stared at him in silence, his face mimicked Arthur's shocked expression. He stepped backwards, his eyes darted around the room. Without another word he headed for the door, which opened before he reached it. A guard peeked inside, no doubt to investigate the commotion. Noah hurriedly pushed past the man.

“Oi, keep it down in here, don't be disturbing Colm.” The guard told Arthur.

Arthur remained motionless, side-glanced at the goon, brows pulled together, jaw clenched. In a split second, the bowl of stew was in his hand, then flew across the room towards the guard. It collided with the door, the floor below it now a mess.

“Son-of-a-” The guard forced the door open further. “You wanna dance Morgan?” A sneer formed on the man's face. He was immediately joined by his equally broad companion.

Arthur snarled at them. In the back of his mind he knew he didn't stand a chance against the pair of them. Not now with all his injuries and exhaustion. But the vivid memory of a near dead Noah, and the words the boy had just uttered; sparked a rage he hadn't felt in some time. Of course it wasn't fine to kill his father, that wasn't the point, there were rules which the boy clearly didn't have a damned clue about.

The first of the guards stomped towards him, Arthur lifted the chair up and wielded it as a weapon. It wasn't heavy, but still his body protested. He was certain his side started bleeding again as soon as he swung the chair full force. The impact was fierce, the first guard dropped down as soon as the chair shattered into pieces against the man's head.

Arthur backed up when the other guard stepped over his companion. All he had left to defend himself with were his fists. He had nowhere to go either, the bed blocked the path to his right, a dresser against the wall only a few paces to his left. And of course he bumped against the bedside table behind him.

“Gonna make you bleed for that.” The second goon spat.

Arthur, unwilling to waste words on the man swung at him with all his might. His fist collided with the jaw of his opponent, but the brute hardly flinched.

His shoulders sagged in defeat, he was weakened, but hadn't expected to be _this_ weak. Being faced with how useless he had become made his rage fade away. Was there anything he hadn't failed to do right in the recent weeks?

Arthur's eyes widened when the brute grappled him. This wasn't the time to wallow in self pity, and now it cost him a fight he likely would have lost anyways. There was no more time to react, the man had a tight grip on the back of his neck and arm, flung him across the room as if he weighed nothing.

He landed on his side with a loud groan, close to where he had downed the first guard. Arthur shuffled backwards, the open door only a few feet behind him. Not that running would be an option, he had no where to go and there was an army of O'Driscoll's outside the building. Instead he opted to use his legs, kicked at the approaching man, it was a good strike, hit the bastard on his shin. It bought him the few seconds he needed to scramble to his feet, almost tripped as he stood. His balance unsteady from all the injuries he had suffered through.

“Fuck! You're a right bastard.” The brute said with his thick Irish accent.

Arthur's foot bumped into something. A leg of the now broken chair, he grabbed it, armed himself again and swung at the man. This time the blow had staggered the bastard. He grinned at the brute, the small victory re-awakened his eagerness to brawl. He needed this, a chance to blow off some steam, to deal with all the emotions he otherwise didn't know how to process.

“Come on then.” Arthur wielded the wooden leg with both hands, the brute now hesitated to close the distance. If the big feller wouldn't come to him, he'd go to them. A few steps brought him near enough for another strike. Their positions now reversed with the bigger man trapped between Arthur and a flimsy bedside table. He swung again, struck him against the arm the brute used to stop Arthur's weapon from hitting his head once more.

It must have hurt, bastard cried out in pain but dashed forward, swung his fists wildly, predictable, easy to dodge as he took one backwards step after another.

“Stand still ye bastard!” The big guy panted.

“Hope your shooting is more accurate than your swings.” Arthur mocked.

A blunt object slammed against the back of his head, sent him crashing down to the floor. He shouldn't have gloated, let his guard down, be so damned unaware of his surroundings. Arthur was now stunned, sat on hands and knees, his ears ringing.

“You two idiots really struggling with this pathetic little shit?” Jesse stood in the doorway, the barrel of his gun in his hand.

Arthur reached for the weapon he lost, but a boot collided with his ribs. He lost his strength, fell down onto his side. Another boot joined the previous, assaulted him from different sides as the two guards kicked the crap out of him without mercy. He curled up on himself, a desperate attempt to protect his more vulnerable areas.

“That's enough boys.” Jesse stepped forward, crouched down next to Arthur.

Arthur, completely tensed up, his arms covered as much of his chest and face as they could, while his knees were pulled up to block his mid section. He expected more blows, but not a rope being snaked around his neck, nor being pulled up to his knees by it.

“You was warned to play nice, Morgan.” Jesse cracked his knuckles. “Not that I mind being given a reason to beat ya.”

The big bastard had a firm grip on the rope around Arthur's neck, lifted him up by it, high enough for his knees to be suspended a few inches above the floor. He clawed at it, desperate for the air he was being denied, for the memories of the pain of being hanged to go away. And then there was Jesse, the man made good on his promise, slammed fist after fist into his guts. Arthur lowered his arms every time Jesse went in for another punch, he tried to protect his stomach. But that meant he wasn't trying to not be strangled. Claw at the rope, cover up your abdomen, a choice he was torn in between. Because of that he was too slow to stop even a single punch, always late to shield himself. He couldn't even cough, there was no air left to expel and no freedom to draw in more. At least the next few punches were aimed at his face. The third punch left him severely dazed, but it was the lack of air which caused his eyes to grow distant before they closed shut.

He was on the floor now, still somewhat dazed. Couldn't stop the men as they pushed him over onto his belly. He coughed and sputtered, air which he managed to get into his lungs forced out again immediately. By some miracle, or curse, he hadn't lost consciousness. His body wracked by an all too familiar agony in it's throat and lungs. The men weren't being kind either, not that he expected them to be. Ropes dug into his wrists, more went around his upper arms, pulled them close together. It hurt, a lot, he feared they'd wrench his shoulders out of their sockets. His legs were next, he tried to kick at them if only to delay them a little longer. But they were three and he was one, powerless to stop them as they lashed his ankles together. Then the worst part came, his legs were pulled up, tied to his wrists, heels almost touched his fingers. A painful hogtie.

At least he no longer coughed, not until Jesse decided he wasn't done with him, man used his foot to push him on his side. The first kick to his undefended stomach almost made him hurl, the second knocked the wind out of him. He cried out, it hurt so much, no doubt ruined the stitches on his second wound as well.

“Keep misbehaving Morgan, it'll always make my day.” Jesse grinned down at him.

F-fuck you.” He slurred past his already swollen lip.

“Don't be tempting me to continue.” Jesse prodded Arthur with his foot, the same spot he had previously kicked. His grin widened when the man below him cried out again after being jostled without much force.

“Clean this mess up.” Jesse glanced around. “Then meet me downstairs, you two is in trouble for losing to the likes of him.” He told the guards.

Arthur wanted to comment on that, tell Jesse that he had to attack from behind, like a coward. But he somehow mustered up enough wisdom to keep quiet, avoid more pain than he already was in. When Jesse left he feared the guards would get their revenge on him for being forced to clean up, but they left him be. For the best, he thought as he lay there, wheezing and coughing again. Arthur let out a long winded, pain filled sigh after the men finished and closed the door behind themselves.

Alone at last, he could close his eyes now, no longer anxious towards another beating. Sleep would be impossible in his hog-tied position. Arthur's shoulders already ached under the strain, as did his elbows from being drawn so closely together. Nope, definitely wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.

With one ear against the floor he heard muffled voices down below, a raised voice, Colm's. He expected the second voice to be Jesse's. But when he listened carefully, he recognized Noah's younger voice. He tried to understand them, he really did, but they were too muffled, even at a raised volume. Then a door slammed shut, no doubt Colm's room, a few seconds later a pair of boots stomped up the stairs, shortly followed by another.

“Stop? What do you mean stop?!” Noah's voice was muffled, but fairly audible to Arthur while the boy stood on the stairs.

“Let him simmer for an hour or two.” Jesse was harder to hear, further down the stairs, Arthur guessed.

“One of you tells me to go in, the other tells me to stay out, make up your darned minds!” Noah sounded so angry.

“It's fine, I'll talk to the boss, just stay out.” Jesse replied.

It was the second time today that Arthur heard him be so angry. The second time because of something he did, or said. He should just shut up from now on, maybe that would make things better for the boy. He'd been too forthcoming around Noah anyways, always busy trying to share feelings he didn't understand.

The boots, Noah's, sounded more distant as he descended the stairs. Boy had barely resisted Jesse's request. Arthur remembered a time where that wouldn't been the case. A time where Colm didn't have to order Noah to check on him.

You're a fool Morgan. You shouldn't have mentioned a quest for revenge to him. Of course it wouldn't sit right with a soul as pure as Noah's. But the boy didn't know, didn't understand there were rules. Women, children, innocents, they were all off limits. Them's the rules, Dutch's rules. Arthur frowned at the memory. He could practically hear the man spell them out to a younger version of himself. Where had that come from? Also if they really were Dutch's rules, then what kind of man was he to break his own damned code? Stupid question, he knew exactly what kind of man Dutch is, memories or not. He saw enough during the week he spent with them.

Arthur groaned, his thoughts interrupted by a flare up of pain in his lower abdomen. He could feel a warm liquid drip down to his side, he was bleeding alright. So much for this freshly cleaned shirt.

“F-funny.” He lisped at himself, the brief chuckle a mistake. It was immediately followed by another bout of strenuous coughs, still he hadn't passed out. That would make it too easy, he thought. It'd be a nice change, for something to be straightforward and easy.

How was it possible to forget yourself and the people around you, start over with a blank slate, and still have things be so infinitely complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me in the notes of the previous chapter: "There probably won't be any whump for a few chapters."  
> Also me in this chapter -> Half of it is whump.  
> I'm so sorry, I hope no one was looking forward to no whump for a bit, it's stronger than myself!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, it's always nice to hear from you. Comments are the best source of fuel for a writer!


	33. Chapter 33

Arthur groaned, his limbs still bent awkwardly, forced to the limit of an unnatural angle. He had kept his eyes on the door, hopeful to be released any time soon. One or two hours, he overheard Jesse say. Surely it had been that long. He had to crane his neck to see the window, the sky outside seemed dark and gloomy, there would be no way to tell time without the sun.

Shit was he sore. Old an new injuries layered on top of each other, the hard floor underneath him. So damned sore. No more outbursts, Jesse was too eager to see him fail even the slightest bit, anything to have an excuse to do more of this to him.

“Urgh.” He groaned again, decided it was time to try and keep his temper in check, emphasis on _try_.

A brief panic flared up when the door opened, to his surprise it was Noah. There wouldn't be any point in knocking, he figured. Noah had probably been made aware of the position he was in. Boy shook his head at him as soon as the door was closed.

“Oh Arthur.” Noah sighed.

Arthur snorted at the odd familiarity behind the phrase. He spotted the knife in Noah's hand, knew it was there to cut him free. For a second he feared the worst, a second he wished his brain hadn't dedicated to think that it might be there to torture him, or end his life.

Noah wouldn't.

“I'm sorry, this was my fault.” Noah crouched down next to Arthur, sawed at the rope which connected the man's ankles to his wrists.

Arthur groaned when his legs were no longer pulled back further than his muscles wanted.

“W-weren't your fault.” He said while Noah cut through the remaining ropes.

“Help me sit you up.” Noah pulled on Arthur's upper arms until they got him to lean against the bed.

Arthur closed his eyes, let out a heavy sigh when he finally sat in a more comfortable position, legs sprawled out, hands in his lap.

“What I said wasn't fair.” Noah moved Arthur's left arm, lifted the man's shirt in the area where it had gone from light blue to dark red.

“Don't matter.” Arthur mumbled.

“You really need to take it easy and stop tearing your wound open.”

“Sure.” Arthur scoffed at those words. Take it easy, like he asked to be strung up, or cut up or beaten.

“Is the other one fine?” Noah asked after he re-stitched and bandaged the wound. He leaned in, lifted the front of Arthur's shirt.

Arthur's eyes opened when a lavender smell made it's way up his nose, he glanced down at the mop of blonde hair which covered the boy's ear. Only now had he noticed it was longer than when they first met.

“Like it shorter.” Arthur muttered, tempted to stroke a few strands behind Noah's ear. Then he remembered what happened, surprised that he allowed himself to forget for a few seconds. His hand closed into a fist, then lowered to be planted against the floor.

“Huh?” Blue eyes moved up to look at Arthur.

“Nothing.” Arthur lowered his shirt before Noah seemed done with his inspection. Boy leaned back at that, a small nod showed he understood what Arthur wanted. Wound must have been fine or else Noah would have protested, or not so it could fester and kill him.

Stop.

He doesn't want you dead, had plenty of chances to do so already. Get it out of your head you fool.

Arthur shifted to get to his feet, was immediately offered assistance from the boy. He wanted none of it, waved him off accompanied with a head shake.

Arthur groaned, took his time to rub each of his shoulders once he had gotten up.

“A warm bath would be good for those sore muscles, but uhm, you shouldn't until your wounds heal up a bit more.”

“Hm hm.” Arthur grunted at him, rolled his head around to flex his neck.

“If you want I can remedy it at least a little, but you'll have to lie down.”

Arthur's head turned, eyes locked on the bed and the shackles around it's frame. He wanted to refuse, to be left alone. Though he really was stiff, painfully so from being bound in so many uncomfortable positions over the last week. If a remedy would elevate that for a few hours he'd take it.

“Face down please, and uhm, shirt off if you can.” Noah seemed to be in healer mode, judging from the serious expression on his face.

“Sure.” He was too tired to protest, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, tossed it on the floor where he just sat, it needed cleaning anyways. After a moments hesitation he lay down flat on the single bed, arms purposely crossed below his chin, far away from any shackles.

Noah traced a finger across the biggest scar on Arthur's back. “What happened?” He spoke softly.

“That your remedy, talking?” He said, mildly annoyed. It was hard enough to get Micah out of his head without constantly being reminded of the torture the man had inflicted upon him.

“No. I just... thought you might want to-”

“I don't.” Arthur cut him off.

Noah sighed, retrieved a bottle from his satchel, dripped some it's contents onto Arthur's back and some more on his hands.

“What's that?” Arthur craned his neck to see.

“Thought you weren't in the mood for conversation.” Noah grumbled while he rubbed his hands together.

Arthur huffed at him, head turned back so his chin could rest on his arms. It's true, he wasn't in the mood for much, just sleep for the most part. Maybe some food, last meal ended up against a wall, what a great idea that was, he sighed.

“Something wrong?”

He ignored the question, craned his neck again when Noah's oiled up hands stroked along his shoulder blades. “You gonna tell me what yer doin'?”

“Something I learned from Mr. O'Driscoll. Just close your eyes and relax, I promise it'll help your muscles.” 

Was this what the boy waited for? Vulnerable, exposed, belly down on a bed, eyes closed on top of it all. A perfect moment for a smaller opponent to take out a bigger one. Arthur side-glanced toward the satchel on top of the bedside table. The knife Noah used to cut his bindings, must've put it in there. There would be time to stop the boy if he reached for it. Except he ain't gonna reach for it. This stupid crap is in your head, gotta stop thinking everyone is out to kill you. But why wouldn't they be? You lied to Colm, withheld information from him. Jesse thinks you did Owen in. Then you tried to kill Dutch and some others in his gang. Noah you hurt by-

Shit.

Arthur closed his eyes. Yep, plenty o' folk got a good reason to be wanting you dead.

“How is it so far? I'm not very good at it, still practicing.” 

“Hm? Oh, 's fine.” He mumbled. It was fine, quite nice actually. Soft, oily hands rubbing a warmth into his shoulders. “Can uh, can you put a bit more pressure on it?” He sheepishly asked.

“Oh, that's nice.” Arthur murmured when Noah worked his fingers with some more force. The hands slid over towards his upper arm, both of them. They rubbed and kneaded the tension out of his biceps. He felt himself drifting, mind slowly dropped into a lower gear. One where he wasn't overly occupied with all the bad from the past, present and future. There was only a pleasant baseline as he relaxed further and sunk into the soft pillow below his arms.

His second arm now received the same treatment, went equally as pleasantly limp like the other one had. He shouldn't be enjoying this, let his guard down in a house full of men intent on hurting him. But it had been a bad week, the worst he could remember. Surely he wasn't a bad man for craving something other than pain and misery, but if he was being judged for this, then so be it.

He opened one eye when the hands disappeared. Not that relaxed, he thought when Noah leaned sideways. The boy reached for the bedside table, Arthur tensed up, visualized exactly how he'd grab Noah's wrist to pin him down. Carefully, without harming him. The hand he watched like a hawk never got as far as the satchel, instead it's fingers wrapped around the small bottle which stood in front of it. Arthur exhaled, tension flowed out of his mouth, again he cursed himself for having assumed the worst.

“What's wrong? You've tensed up again.” Noah said without a hint of concern, the words merely an observation.

He could ask him, confront him. Then what? What if the answer was yes, should he offer himself up like a lamb for slaughter? It wouldn't work, the boy would never answer truthfully. Things would just be the same, always tense, always waiting to be stabbed in the back. Relax, let him do his thing, figure things out later. “Just thinking,” he finally replied.

“About?” Noah continued with his massage, rubbed more oil on his hands, this time he worked on Arthur's lower back, careful not to disturb the scars on it.

“Don't worry about it.” He closed his eyes again, knuckles dug into his spine, at first it felt awkward, not as good as when his arms were being touched. Soon enough the knuckles moved upwards along his spine, it tingled him, finally felt better, nice again, nice enough as such his back arched.

“You know me, always worrying. I'm more than happy to listen.”

“Why?” He frowned. As much as hearing Noah mention the word 'happy', it felt strange, not quite sincere.

Noah replied with a surprised throaty sound, it prompted Arthur to continue.

“This don't seem right.” He openly admitted. A confession much more simple than to ask if he should expect to be killed at any time.

“Would you rather have me be angry and unforgiving?”

“You... forgave me?” Eyes opened, neck craned, he had to look at Noah, had to search those eyes for truth behind whatever the response would be.

Noah cleared his throat, turned away, his back now faced Arthur. He walked over to the table in the corner, retrieved a piece of cloth which hung from a chair beside it. “I guess.” He mumbled, back still turned towards the man on the bed while he rubbed his hands clean.

“You ain't sure?” Arthur turned, threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

Silence.

Agonizing silence.

“Yes.” Noah turned to him, his lips upturned ever so slightly. “I'm ready to move past all that.”

Arthur's brows furrowed. This was it, everything he wanted, to be told that he would have another chance, that things between them could go back to how they were. Noah's words were an unexpected turn of events, too good to be true, he told himself.

“It'll take a bit of time, you know. But I'm ready.” Noah assured, seemed to sense Arthur's doubt.

“Jesse said-” Arthur started.

“Jesse says whatever he can to get under your skin.” Noah interrupted.

“So just like that you go from not being able to look at me to,” he waved his hand towards Noah, “whatever this is.”

“This isn't something that happened while I was walking up the stairs. I had time to reflect, met someone who helped me answer some questions.”

Arthur grunted in response, still not entirely sure what to make of this revelation. He wanted to embrace it, he really did. Except so far nothing good had come to him, not for long at least. There was no reason for things to suddenly change. Not for someone as undeserving as him, killers don't get second chances. Especially not from the next of kin to those he had slaughtered, indirectly or not.

“I should bring up some food, at this rate we won't get you to the required five meals a day.” Noah said while he eyed the wet stain on the wooden floor. 

“What a damned shame that would be.” Arthur stared at his toes, the words a stark reminder that he was being held against his will. All he had managed in the last week was to trade one controlling bastard for another. At least here he was merely confined to a room, not bound to a tree, not chained up in some God forsaken slave cellar.

“Mr. O'Driscoll takes good care of the people he wants to keep close to him.” Noah flung the satchel over his shoulder.

Arthur huffed. “That something he forces you to say?” He shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have allowed his mind to wander back to what Micah had done to him. Back in Strawberry all them months ago. The severe beating from a few days ago, no, not a beating.

Torture.

“It's the truth.” Noah calmly said.

“This what you call taking good care of someone?!” Arthur lifted one of the shackles. A loud clang echoed through the room when he released it, caused it to collide with the metal frame it was attached to. That thing was back, resurfaced from deep inside of him, the thing which had recently landed him in more trouble than it was worth.

Rage.

“That... that's your own fault for not doing as he says.” Noah averted his eyes, mumbled the words.

“Don't remember much from the past, but let me tell you this, kid. This ain't taking care of someone. This is what men in power do to keep those under them in line. There ain't no freedom nor concern in any of that. Men like Colm care for no one but themselves.” Arthur's hands grabbed a fistful of the sheets, he needed to calm down, stop himself before he said something stupid.

“He didn't have to pay another physician to look after me, but he did.” Noah hurriedly said.

“Because you're free labor. A skilled doctor under his control, 'course he wants you alive.” Arthur's words came out colder than he intended them to.

“Excuse me?!” Noah stepped closer. “So to conform to your vision of him he should have let me die while you were out there murdering people on my behalf?” Noah spat.

Arthur's head snapped up, lips formed into a thin line. He stood up, towered over the boy in front of him. Being a head taller made him plenty intimidating, in spite of the muscles he had lost.

“Damned right I went after them who hurt you! Told you before, it ain't right what they done to ya,” he snarled.

Noah took a step backwards. Arthur had deliberately presented himself as strongly as he could, head straight, chin up, chest puffed, hands balled up into fists. Then he saw it, that hint of fear which crept up in the boy's eyes, it immediately filled him with regret.

“Your f-food will be here s-soon.” Noah stammered, already on his way to the door.

“Noah wait, I-” The door closed behind the boy before Arthur could finish his sentence. “I'm sorry.” He quietly mumbled to himself, followed by a heavy sigh.

“Shit.” He cursed at himself. There was no need for him to have started that argument, he should have left well enough alone. Noah told him he was ready to forgive him, his outburst probably ruined it. The fear he saw in the boy's eyes likely reminded the kid that he faced a very nasty man, a killer. 

Arthur's hand rubbed over his face.

Micah.

That rat still haunted his thoughts, made him hurt someone he deeply cares for even from beyond the grave. Not Dutch, not that big drunken bastard.

Micah.

That was the bastard he should have tried to kill, the one who started it all. Now there was nothing left of him, not even a grave to defile. Just ashes long since swept away by the wind. So here he stood, controlled by a rage brought forth from the memories of a ghost.

A fucking ghost he couldn't beat the ever living shit out of.

Arthur's eyes landed on the only remaining chair in the room, he lifted it with a rage fueled strength, aimed it at the window. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, until his chest no longer heaved as fast. His arms shook, body ached from holding the heavy object as high as he did. He lowered it, set it back down with closed eyes. He knew the guards would be on top of him within seconds. They'd force him down, get Jesse to lay another beating upon him until he no longer had the voice to cry out for it to end. No, he wouldn't let his rage guide him down that path.

Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one and not a good one. I had the first half written a while ago then got lost when I resumed it. I blame the busy week I've had, my apologies. Next update will be much sooner to make up for it's length, and so I don't lose track of where I was going with it. 
> 
> Thank you as always, for reading, hopefully enjoying some bits and especially for leaving a comment! It's always great to read through the comments, it's very hard to express how great they are for most writers.


	34. Chapter 34

The voices from below came through muffled. It was yet another argument, he knew that much. Colm once again giving Noah an earful about whatever. Poor boy, probably being berated about not getting him to eat enough. Arthur sighed, that or Noah just told Colm he don't want to come up here no more, not after he just lost him temper in front of him.

The look of fear he saw in those beautiful blue eyes still sickened him. More so knowing he was the reason for it. 

He opened the dresser in his room, still bare chested. Whenever he paced around the prison which was his room, past the mirror, he had seen his reflection too often. The bandages, bruises and scars, too much of a distraction, a temptation to fall back into that dark pit of self loathing. Not now, not after Noah said he had a chance at redemption. If the boy was still willing to give him a chance after the argument from an hour ago that is. He could prove that he's not some out of control killer, in spite of what both Dutch and Colm claimed.

Arthur snagged a light grey shirt from the center shelf.

If he was this super soldier they said he was, then surely he'd be attracted to the idea of being out there, stealing, killing. But he wasn't, not even remotely. Ride out with Noah on the back of his horse. Find some peaceful meadows out there, share some drinks as they glanced up at the stars together. They'd lie there, side by side in silence, no words which could lead to arguments. He'd hold him close, close enough so he could smell Noah's sweet flowery scent, tight in his embrace. Far away and safe from men like Colm and Dutch.

A small smile formed on his lips. Those can't be the wishes of a killer, whoever he was before all this, that isn't who he is any more. He pulled the shirt on, brows furrowed, lips tightened as he walked over to the window. He couldn't imagine himself being down there with the others. Sat around a campfire, downing bottles of whiskey while they groped the women on their laps.

The door opened, no knock, couldn't be Noah, it wasn't. A guard stepped in, a plate of food in one hand, pitcher in the other. The items were set down on the table, wordless, not a nod, nothing. The man hadn't even acknowledged his existence, which was more than fine for Arthur. Not the same guard from before, he realized as the man left. Jesse must have changed the guards after they lost a fight to him. He smirked at that.

Food smelled nice. Tomato soup, roast chicken, cranberry sauce and vegetables, a very lavish meal. His mouth watered before he even sat down, no cutlery, 'course Colm doesn't trust him with that. He picked a piece of chicken up, brought it to his mouth and stopped. Noah hadn't delivered his meal, that was a first. The argument must have upset the boy, more so than he thought. Or worse, maybe he had scared him off for good.

It's poisoned.

Arthur dropped the piece back onto the plate, closed his eyes. Would make sense to have a guard deliver it, would give the boy someone else to blame. It shifted some of the responsibility out of his hands, exactly how you'd kill someone without having the mindset of a killer. Indirect, distant, clean.

Stop.

The palm of his hand pressed against his temple, rubbed around in small circles. He wouldn't, stop thinking otherwise. The piece of meat was between his fingers again, hovered close to his lips. If it was poisoned, truly was, then it meant Noah would shove his own principles, his entire being aside just to be rid of him. If the boy felt so strongly about him being dead, then he'd gladly oblige. If anything his last act would have been a righteous one. To knowingly swallow poison in the hopes that it would redeem all the wrong he had done, all the injustice he had brought upon those people in Strawberry.

Arthur took a deep breath, placed the piece of chicken down on his tongue and swallowed it whole. Next up he did the same with a few pieces of the vegetables, some sauce and finally a sip of the soup, all this within a few seconds of each other.

Arthur sat back, hands flat on the table at either side of his plate, eyes closed.

He waited.

...And waited.

Nothing.

He felt nothing, no stomach ache, no sickness, nothing.

Not poisoned.

He exhaled, loudly. Relieved that he wasn't about to die. After being hanged not once, but twice, the urge to experience those dreadful last seconds had long since left him. He had heard stories of those who survived such an experience. How they relieved certain moments of their lives in the blink of an eye. That hadn't happened for him, there had been nothing to remember. Only a dark void, filled with fear and dread. Anger and sorrow over the man he knew he once was. Perhaps still is.

Arthur sighed. He had to stop thinking about it, else his appetite would be lost to him. At least the food still smelled nice, made it easier to commit to wanting to consume it all.

The rest of his plate went down fast, every next bite more delicious than the previous. His meal was barely over when the door opened again, the same guard stepped in.

“Come on then, time for work.” The man almost a head taller than him said. Arthur wondered if Colm set out a height requirement for those he recruited.

“Work? Colm said I could rest for three days.”

“You was fit enough to beat up them boys, so you is fit enough to work. Now get off yer lazy arse, won't be askin' again.” The guard snarled.

Arthur scoffed at him, he knew what lay behind those words. Another beating, or worse. The rest of his water was gulped down before he followed the guard, the second one close behind him. He was lead to the stables, told to start moving heavy hay bales around for the cattle. Easier said than done, he thought after he lifted the first one, a nightmare for all the injuries across his body.

The labor was hard but a necessity. Those who were unable to go out and earn money had to work on the ranch to earn their keep. Hours of heavy labour went by, he lifted more hay, buckets of water and sacks of grain. It was a miracle that his two freshest wounds hadn't re-opened. The strain of it all left him covered in sweat, as much as he hated being confined to a room, he now longed for the rest and relaxation it provided.

“Shifts over Morgan, back to yer room.” One of the two guards said. They had followed him around the whole time, guns at the ready in case he tried something.

He nodded at them, hadn't followed their lead. Instead he walked into the stall where Artemis stood, his beautiful mare. Her saddle hung over the wooden railing, he heard guns cock behind him as he approached it.

“Easy fellas, just grabbin' some reading material.” He said with one hand raised, the other he slowly lowered inside the saddlebag and pulled what he knew to be his journal of sorts, out of it. When the men lowered their guns, he breathed a sigh of relief. Would have been a damned shame to be shot because he was curious about some writings from his past self.

“Hey girl.” He murmured at her while his free hand stroked across her head. She leaned in until her nose touched his hair. “Yeah, missed you too.”

“Morgan, I ain't in no mood to drag ye up them stairs.” The guards voice was littered with annoyance.

Arthur gave his horse one final pat against the side of her neck. Back in his room, he tossed the journal on his bed. He could smell the food before he even glanced over towards the table where his next meal already awaited him. He decided to remove dirty shirt first, used it to dry himself off before he put a fresh one on. Corn bread, steak and potatoes, another lavish meal, even included a wooden spoon this time. Colm really wanted him to have the best.

_'I need you at your best and most beautiful.'_

He almost lost his appetite when he remember why Colm graced him with such luxurious foods. The thought of Colm's finger in his mouth, the man's hands all over him, he shuddered. How did he even know what to do? He worked his tongue around that finger as if it was normal, as if he'd done it before. But with who? It must have been a man, that much became clear with how attracted he felt towards Noah. Could it have been a Van der Linde? The big drunk certainly seemed interested in him, but his advances indicated they had nothing going on between them. The older man, Hosea, he was out of the question, felt more like a father figure than a lover. Jim perhaps? Not Jim, John. Couldn't be, he was certain that him and that woman had a thing. A- something, whatever her name was.

What about Charles? He wondered as he ate. Man seemed very concerned for his well being. Honourable, kind and caring, definitely someone he could fall for. But that was now. He had no idea if he had the same thoughts before. If he was a dangerous killer then maybe he was attracted to someone equally as dangerous? Someone like Micah. Arthur gagged for a second. No, not Micah, never ever, not even his past self.

Dutch?

Arthur's hand balled up into a fist and covered his mouth. The thought of sharing a bed with Dutch... hell no, that was almost as bad as Micah, almost. He shifted in his seat, now sat sideways so he could stare at the journal while he ate. That book could hold some answers, answers he might not want to know about. To read about his past sins was something he couldn't quite bring himself to. Then why carry it up, why bother at all?

“No harm in lookin'” He mumbled on his way to the bed, sat down with the journal in his lap, might have some answers about his love life, if he had one. The pictures he'd seen before were set to rest on the bedside table, same with the pencil. He flicked through it, ignored the text for the most part. He wasn't ready, too afraid to read something he rather wouldn't. The pictures were impressive, detailed craftsmanship, hard to believe they were supposedly his.

One page in particular caught his interest. It was a drawing of a man with a forest behind him, the man stood beside some photographic apparatus. The familiarity of the drawing compelled him to read the text.

_Met a nice fella taking photos of animals – Albert Mason, I think he was called. Kind and interesting and entirely lost and unused to real country, even though he seemed to love it. Trying to take pictures of all our biggest predators before they all got killed off themselves by the modern world. Should have got him to take a picture of Dutch._

A memory flashed in his mind, the walls of a humble wooden cabin adorned with photo's. A photographer.

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose as the memory became more vivid. The dozens of pictures were of wolves, gators, coyotes, eagles and more. An animal photographer, with pictures of predators.

_”This'll be the last one for today, one Albert Mason.”_

He remembered now, Colm had said the name all those weeks ago. Albert Mason, the man in his journal, the _nice_ fella. That was the man he threatened and roughed up for a few dollars. It was true, they had known each other all along. 

The journal was tossed aside, within seconds he stood at the window and opened it so he could lean out for several, much needed deep breaths.

Shit.

He felt sick to his stomach, truly did. Mr. Mason must have been so confused, probably felt betrayed by a man he seemed to regard as a friend.

_'A nice fella'_

How could a man as bad as himself, a thief and a murderer, befriend a seemingly nice man? Is it possible that he wasn't the ruthless muscle both Colm and Dutch described him as? He snorted at the thought. Surely there was no middle ground. No one goes from having a drink and a chat with a harmless naturist to murdering an entire town.

No one.

Even still, there is no way in hell that the good would outweigh the bad, and a bad man he surely is.

Is?

No, was. It had been a struggle to extort those poor people for Colm. It felt normal, felt right but wrong at the same time.

Arthur groaned, pressed the palm of his hand against his temple. It made no sense, something can't feel both right and wrong at the same time, surely not?

He sighed, turned around to face the bed, his eyes locked on to the journal.

“Who the hell were you, Morgan?” He asked himself.

~~~

Several days passed. Uneventful, dull and filled with the same old boring routine. Arthur was still confined to his room, allowed outside only to do more hard labor on the ranch. The guards no longer came, instead Noah visited him five times a day, the meal times. They small talked here and there but never anything meaningful. Arthur kept the journal hidden between the wall and the only large dresser in his room. The few pages he had flicked through had detailed entries about the Van der Linde operation. Locations they camped at, their earnings and information on how they executed certain jobs. He thought it best to keep these things from Colm, man would probably take it away from him, use it against them. He wouldn't mind if it was just Dutch and a few of the others. But there were women, a child. Charles and Hosea. Should he burn the book?

Arthur stood in front of the mirror, rubbed and stretched his sore arm. The work had been extra hard today, he chopped wood, carried heavy hay bale after hay bale while the mid afternoon sun blazed in the skies above. All in all it had been a tiring day. His hand wandered down to the scar on his side, it had healed up nicely, as had the one on his stomach. He looked better too, still uglier than the devil himself, but better.

“Need a shave.” He muttered, scratched the hair on his neck.

A soft knock. More food, felt like he did nothing but eat all day. Not that it wasn't helping, he flexed his arm, definitely gained some muscles already.

More knocking, this time louder.

“Yes.” He sighed and pulled his shirt on.

Noah entered, overloaded with a plate in each hand and two bottles under his arms and a glass in the crook of each elbow.

“Whoa!” A bottle threatened to slip from his grasp, boy shifted his balance, titled the plate in his hand a bit too much.

“I got you.” Fortunately, Arthur was but one wide step away from being able to assist. One hand steadied Noah's arm, the other held on to the plate, saved it's contents from being spilled on the floor.

Noah swallowed deeply. This was the first time since Arthur's return that he was touched the boy, as opposed to he being touched by him, for medical reasons.

“Let me uh, give ya a hand there.” Arthur pried the bottle from him, felt how tense Noah seemed to be by his close proximity.

“T-thanks.” Noah headed over to the table, set the items down one by one.

“Whiskey?” Arthur lifted the bottle, brows raised. This was a first, previously he'd been given nothing but water.

“Yeah eh... noticed you had a rough day in the heat.” Noah turned to face him, saw the questioning look in Arthur's eyes. “Mr. O'Driscoll is fine with it.”

“'Course, didn't expect ya to do anything behind _Mr. O'Driscoll's_ back.” Arthur retorted.

Noah's expression changed to one of bewilderment, borderline anger.

“Sorry, didn't mean nothing by it.” Arthur raised a hand in defeat, silently cursed himself for antagonizing the boy yet again.

“I get it.” Noah's expression dropped, as he flicked a switch. “I'd be frustrated too if I were cooped up inside for most of the day.”

Arthur raised his head, brows raised, not the response he expected. He was certain his words would have prompted Noah to leave immediately, like he normally had. It was then that he realized the two plates contained the same meal, that there were two spoons and glasses, instead of the usual one.

Noah glanced behind himself, then nodded at Arthur. “You're not the only one who could use some company.” He shrugged, turned around again, opened a bottle and poured it into both glasses.

With Noah's back to him, Arthur quickly glanced in the mirror. He brushed a hand through his hair, bared his teeth for a second and finally a quick brush of his beard to straighten it as much as he could. He rapidly lowered his hand when Noah faced him again, cleared his throat as he approached the chair.

Noah in his turn seated himself in the other chair he had brought up a few days ago.

Arthur's first instinct was to reach for the whiskey. The two of them had never eaten together, it felt strange, uncomfortable even. How do you even dine with someone, is he supposed to start some sort of small talk? What about? He did nothing for most of the day, there's no conversation to be had about chopping wood or lifting heavy objects.

Unlike Arthur, who had gulped down his glass, Noah took a tiny sip of his, immediately his facial expression changed to one filled with disgust, he set the glass down and pushed it away. The way the boy poked at his food showed that Noah seemed equally as clueless on what to do. It was odd, why bother just to sit here in silence? Unless...

“Did Colm tell you to do this?” Arthur asked as he refilled his glass.

“Not everything I do is because Mr. O'Driscoll said so.” Noah said with a heavy sigh.

“Not what I asked.”

Noah held Arthur's stare for a few seconds before he replied. “No.”

Arthur grunted, not entirely convinced if there was truth behind that. He downed another glass, the strong whiskey burned his throat but it's light buzz prompted him to continue. Of course he had to mention Colm again and successfully made things awkward.

“What's all this for then?” Whiskey helped him faster than he thought it would, still hadn't touched his food at all.

“I want to provide you with some company and suddenly you're suspect of everything? You expecting poison as well, that why you haven't touched your food?” Noah dropped the spoon in the bowl, crossed his arms and averted his eyes.

Shit. Noah must have caught on to how suspicious he'd always been towards everything the boy brought him.

“Besides it'd be easier to hide in the whiskey, you wouldn't smell a thing, and you've downed plenty of that already.” Noah huffed.

Arthur's mouth was agape, his gaze lowered towards the glass in his hand and then back up to Noah who still stared at anything but him.

“It's not poisoned you oaf.” Noah's eyes found Arthur's again, his arms remained crossed.

Arthur's cheeks flushed. It was his turn to avert his gaze, embarrassed because his suspicious attitude towards Noah had now been exposed.

“Arthur, it's fine.” Noah sighed, “I understand why you're wary, I'd feel the same in your position.”

He shook his head. “Don't, we both know you'd never be in this position.”

“That's not how empathy works.” Noah pushed Arthur's bowl towards the man. “Please eat something.”

He side glanced at the stew, whiskey before food had been a bad idea. Probably destroyed his taste buds for the rest of the evening. But he'd get in trouble if he refused, as would Noah more than likely.

“Look...” He scooped a few spoonfuls into his mouth before he continued, “I eh, I'm real sorry 'bout what happened to your pa.”

“Don't want to talk about that.” Noah's mouth formed into a straight line.

“Right...” Of course he didn't you moron. Why do you ruin things every time you open your worthless mouth? It's a damned miracle the boy hasn't left yet.

Noah lifted his glass, gulped it's contents down, he sputtered and coughed after it had been emptied, clearly not used to it's potency.

“Geez kid, take it easy.” 

“I'm fine,” Noah wheezed, rubbed his throat, “ugh that burns.”

“That's whiskey for ya.” Arthur smirked. Unfortunately he couldn't remember the first time he had one. Considering there was a good chance it had been in the company of Dutch Van der Linde, it was probably for the best.

Noah finally recovered from his bodies uprising against the strong alcohol. He grabbed the bottle, re-filled Arthur's glass and went on to re-fill his own.

Arthur quickly placed his hand on top of Noah's glass. “How about we start you off with something lighter first.”

“Like?” Noah set the bottle down, still had a slight wheeze in his voice.

“Next time, bring yourself a beer.” Arthur lifted and sipped from his own drink.

“Next time?” Noah raised a brow.

“You ain't the worst company I've had.” Arthur grunted, played it off as something casual. He scooped more food in his mouth to hide a smile. It seemed hard for them to not argue when they were in the same room. But Noah being willing to sit and eat in the same room as him, that was certainly something he never imagined would ever happen after everything. He was going to do his damnedest to not ruin this.

“You look better, healthier.” Noah said after a long silence.

He shrugged, not comfortable with discussing his body. Another silence formed between them, made him realize how awful he was at conversing. Awful whenever he wasn't beating someone to near death for a few dollars, he seemed to have plenty to say at those times. A deep frown appeared on his face.

“Hey, stay with me.” Noah reached out, wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist.

Arthur's brows slowly relaxed as he lifted his head. Noah hadn't touched him like this since before he found out about his father. Unsure if it was the alcohol or not, he felt a flutter in his stomach. Remembered what it was like to have someone truly care. As soon as his lips curled upwards, the hand disappeared, along with those hypnotizing blue eyes.

Damn.

Another drink, that should help. He thought as he emptied his fourth or fifth glass. Before he set it down on the table, Noah was already prepared to re-fill it. Strange, he briefly thought.

“Tryin' to get me drunk?” He asked, feeling bolder than ever, as one does after copious amounts of whiskey.

Noah stared at him like a spooked deer. “No, of course not. Just trying to be polite, I'll stop, sorry.” He set the bottle down.

Arthur finished the rest of his stew, as luck would have it, his last spoonful mostly ended up on his shirt as opposed to his mouth.

“Shit.” He cursed, cast a brief glare at Noah who chuckled.

“Sorry.” Noah got to his feet, started to wipe up some bits on the table with his napkin.

“Stop being sorry all the time.” Arthur got up as well, used his own napkin to attempt to clean himself. It was then that the speed of his movements caught up with him, badly. He swayed a bit, steadied himself against the chair. The napkin he quickly tossed on the table.

“Shit.” He groaned as the whiskey caught up faster than expected.

“You probably should have eaten before your first three glasses.” Noah pointed out.

Arthur gave him a look, he knew how alcohol worked, or so he thought. Damned room was so hot now, he took a few steps towards the window, opened it so that cool, evening air could make it's way in.

“You okay?” Noah asked from behind him.

“Fine.” A few deep breaths, that should help. Should absolutely not make him feel ten times more drunk than a few seconds ago.

Shit.

“Gosh. Come here please, before you fall out of the window.” Noah pulled him back.

Arthur draped an arm around the boy's shoulder, leaned in a bit further than intended.

“You smell nice.” He muttered with a smile, repeated the words when Noah seemed confused.

“Oookay... Maybe you should lie down for a bit.” Noah cast the smallest of smiles in Arthur's direction.

“'M fine.” He lied as the room swirled around him. They made it over to the bed, he let go of Noah, allowed himself to drop face first on the bed, hard enough to bounce a bit.

“You went from zero to drunk in record time.” Noah groaned as he lifted Arthur's legs onto the bed

“'M fine.” Arthur repeated.

“So you keep saying.” Noah removed the man's boots for him.

“What you doing?” Arthur asked a bit more higher pitched than usual.

“Getting you comfortable.”

“You ain't my nursemaid no more.” He craned his neck upward, frowned at Noah.

“Still your doctor.” 

“Never had no doctor remove my boots.” The strain on Arthur's neck became too much, his head flopped back down on the pillow.

“You remember previous doctor visits?” Noah slowly moved from button to button, undoing every single on of them. 

“No. Still pretty sure they wouldn't have.” Arthur frowned as he stared up at the ceiling.

The frown deepened when his suspenders became undone.

“Hey.” He grabbed hold of Noah's wrists, suddenly a lot less drunk. “What you doin'?”

“I've done this lot's of times Arthur, there's nothing I haven't seen.” Noah forced out a smile.

“Don't need help.” Arthur let go of him.

“But you need company, remember?” One of Noah's hands rested on Arthur's thigh, close to his groin, too close.

Arthur was at a loss for words, the implication had been clear. It made no sense, why now? There was no reason, no build-up, not a single signal to Noah from his end. So why?

“You need to relax, doctors orders.” Noah cooed.

His mind was hazy, clouded with a pleasant buzz from the whiskey. What little of it he had managed to push back when Noah first started to remove his pants, had now returned in tenfold. The temptation to listen, to relax and enjoy the moment was strong. His body had the same idea, he could feel it between his legs, a need, a desire which had lingered there for so long.

He should open his mouth and refuse. Deny Noah's advances, as hard as it was while his drunken desire took over. The boy looked so beautiful, especially when he straddled him.

Noah, now knelt on the bed with Arthur's body in between him. He removed his satchel, tossed it behind him after he fished something out.

Arthur licked his lips, he knew what Noah was doing, how his hands were busy to get himself prepared for what was about to come. The stimulation behind seeing that unblemished, clean shaven face contort as the boy prepared his own ass, it was enough to harden him up significantly.

The drink had done it's job, any form of protest now long gone, he spat in his hand, stroked himself to complete hardness.

“You're big.” Noah pointed out. He seemed hesitant to continue now that he had seen Arthur's cock fully erect for the first time.

“J-just go slow.” Arthur slurred. His breathing had sped up, hands he placed on Noah's hips when the boy positioned himself above his cock.

He couldn't help but moan when those long, slender fingers wrapped around his shaft to guide it. He practically growled when it entered the ass slick with what he assumed to be petroleum jelly. His hands now moved all over the place, from Noah's hips to the bed so they could grasp onto the sheets. The more of him Noah took in, the harder it became to contain his lust, the desire to thrust his hips up and push himself all the way in.

“S-stay still, g-give me a f-few.” Noah panted from the effort, paused every time he lowered himself a bit further.

Arthur finally decided to keep one hand under his head, it's fingers entangled in his hair for support. He had to close his eyes once Noah taken in all of him. He could finish there and then before they even started, it had been too damned long.

Noah's hands rested on top of Arthur chest. Head tilted back as he no doubt allowed himself to relax around the large mass which now occupied the space inside his ass.

“You ready?” Noah panted.

“Y-yeah.” He was too ready, tried so damned hard to not end things too fast. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut when Noah slid back up, until he was almost out, then lowered himself again, slowly.

“Ah shit... c-can't.” He stammered, knuckles white from his intense grasp on the sheets.

“It's okay.” Noah lifted and lowered himself a bit faster, only managed to do so another two or three times before Arthur's back arched.

"Nnggg!!" The hand underneath his head flailed around above him until it managed to grab hold of the metal bed frame. Teeth bared as an animal like growl emanated from his throat. 

Shit.

“Oh.” Was all Noah said.

Arthur kept his eyes closed, his cheeks changed colour to a bright red. Had it even been a minute? He had to say something, come up with an explanation as to why this wasn't what should be expected of him.

Noah sat up until he was empty, a quick shuffle and he was off the bed.

“Listen I eh...” Shit, what could he even say?

“It's been a while for you, I get it, don't worry.” Noah assured him.

“Y-yeah, do you want me to eh... “ The words were slurred, Arthur lazily motioned towards Noah's groin as the boy pulled his own pants up. He noticed how flaccid Noah had remained throughout everything. But the observation never made it to the part of his brain which could work out why that was.

“It's fine, you seem tired.” Noah hurried with his clothes, the last item was the satchel which he flung over his shoulder. “I'll clean your table later.” Noah said on his way out.

“Sure.” Arthur mumbled, eyes closed again. He was too tired to clean himself up, to even move at all. The room still felt as if it spun even with his eyes closed. He sighed, happily even, before he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

~~~

Outside Arthur's room, Noah was in a hurry to make his way downstairs. He got as far as the bucket which stood in the kitchen, the one he used to dump leftovers from the food he had cooked. He lifted it, set it down on top of the kitchen counter and emptied the contents of his stomach inside of it.

Noah groaned after he had nothing left to expel. The bucket went back to where it stood, he'd clean it out later.

“I take it that went well?” 

Noah closed his eyes, didn't turn around to face Colm. “Yes, whiskey did the job,” he quietly said.

“Good.” Colm's hand rested on Noah's shoulder, gave it a very firm squeeze. “Keep going, win his trust. I want to know where their camp is, sooner rather than later, understood?”

“I know.” Noah wriggled free from his grasp. “I'm trying.”

“Speed it up boy.” Colm threatened before he walked back towards his room.

Noah nodded, when he promised Colm he'd do anything to keep Arthur from being hanged, this hadn't been what he expected. 

_'Do whatever it takes to find out where the Van der Linde's are, seduce him, fuck him if you must, I don't care.'_

He should have known that Colm would demand such a heavy price.

_'Fail me and I'll fuck him myself until he bleeds and breaks. Then I'll let all the boys have a go at him, until finally, I'll string him up for real, is that clear?'_

The threat had been clear as day. Colm wasn't joking, the man would do exactly that. Which meant he had no choice. The idea of sex with Arthur repulsed him, it was hard enough to be in the same room as the man, to smile and pretend everything was okay. But to give him physical pleasure, the man who was responsible for his father's death. That had been the most nauseating thing he had ever done.

Worst of all, he knew it was far from over. It wouldn't be easy to get what Colm wanted. He'd have to lie his way through it, fake happiness, desire and need. Those things were against everything he valued, and yet here he was. Willing to break his own morals, sell his body out, only to save a man he couldn't even stand to be around.

Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally auto-correct on AO3 to US-English, but today it seems to insist that the text remains in UK-English. I have no idea why, I changed what I could find to US-English, sorry if I missed bits which makes things seem inconsistent.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!


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